COLUMN: Redneck stuff Vol. 2
I finally knew my family was in trouble when my brother excitedly got a Big Mouth Billy Bass for Christmas about 10 years ago.
I’m not sure he fully appreciated the reception of an electronic singing fish, but boy I had fun with it! After learning to fish as a youngster, I always wanted to mount a trophy lunker on my wall and was probably just jealous he got the opportunity before me. As you can imagine, being a bass fisherman is a giant leap in understanding the local culture back home in Virginia.
Alas, I was stuck at home without even a run-down pickup truck to drive to all the fishing holes, so I had to do something else with my life like get an education and learn useful facts. For example, I recall that if you lay all the strips of bacon end to end served at Waffle House in a year, it would stretch from Atlanta to Los Angeles seven times. I better not forget to mention that Waffle House also serves enough Jimmy Dean sausage every day that, if stacked, would be taller than the Empire State Building. Mmmmm … skyscrapers of pork. And my friends said school was a waste of time.
Of course now that I’ve graduated from college with a degree in physics you’d think I’d be much more sophisticated than some random dude from the South. Nope. Last summer I worked for our county government back home as a summertime painter for the public schools. I’m just glad my $120,000 piece of paper with Latin scribbled all over it finally came in handy.
The folks at work called me “professor,” probably because I was the only one they knew who ever finished school past fifth grade. I had so much fun utilizing my comprehensive vocabulary in the workplace with fun words like “aorta” and “initiate,” as in: “Aorta give us a longer lunch break, cuz Missy can sure put away the food. She had five burgers, initiate a whole chocolate cake!”
The job was hilarious, yet mildly disturbing when I finally ascertained that underneath my educated exterior, complete with writing skill and amazing diction, I truly was a redneck. I don’t regret this fact. Actually I use it to my benefit in almost every situation where being a redneck is an advantage. For example, I calculated the precise force (in Newtons) required to smash a Budweiser can on your forehead with no noticeable injuries – at least not to your buddy, Vern.
Speaking of food and drunkenness, my big summer goal for 2003 (I’m not making this up – call my brother) was to be a regular at our run down, tacky diner. Thankfully I only went one time, or I might still be stuck there trying to figure out what chip beef really is. *spine-chilling shudder*
Even though I’ve gotten a hang of the lingo and lifestyle I never cease to be amazed at the things I see and hear when I go home. One time I was walking to a Wal-Mart, every redneck’s favorite superstore, with a friend. Someone she knew stopped us and asked if we wanted to go and hear his new truck. Virtually unable to contain an outburst of both complete disgust and immeasurable elation at his humorous request, we had no choice but to listen. From what I could tell, it sounded a lot like a truck.
After the brief delay, we went into the store and I noticed a young lad of around 12 years of age walking around with his dad. The boy seemed to be on his way of becoming just like pop, the typical bass fishin,’ turkey huntin’ redneck you see through central Virginia. Obviously not old enough to own his own firearm at such a young age, I could tell just by a quick glance that one day he would. The kid was dressed in camouflage pants, the reception of which was probably a childhood dream come true. Eager to “get all growed up”, this boy would soon be able to legally grow his hair into a mullet, buy a shotgun and shoot happy little woodland creatures just for some extreme boasting with his drinking buddies.
Shopping isn’t nearly as fun here in Logan until I finally discovered my new favorite locale, the C-A-L Ranch store. No other place could make me feel more at home than a store where you can buy turbine drip lubricant, twenty-pound blocks of salt, duck decoys, Dickies, windshield wiper fluid, and Power Bait all in one place. I could spend years in there without getting bored!
Actually, all this writing makes me feel kinda homesick, so I’m going to head down there right now for some special purchases. I have a hankerin’ for some camo pants and a singin’ fish. Git-R-Done!
Garrett Wheeler aspires to be the first USU master’s student officially working on the professional bass fishing tour. Any hints on mass ice thawing will be received gratefully at wheel@cc.usu.edu.