things heard on our trip to San Angelo...
My husband loves truck stops. If it were up to him we'd stop at every single one along the way on any road trip we ever take. He is on the eternal hunt for the perfect jerky. He forgets that my Aunts down in Houston already know where the good stuff is and would probably mail him some if he sent them a note on a twenty dollar bill, asking nicely, of course.
I, on the other hand, despise truck stops. Generally, I find them to be the most vile and filthy locales in the state. I feel like I should boil my hands and dip my children in vats of Purell after setting foot inside one.
My truck stop embargo is pretty solid, although I do make one concession on our way to San Angelo. We stop in Weatherford at the Petro station to eat and check out the pinball action. There are dozens upon dozens of colorful characters at the Petro stop. Some are seriously bodies-buried-under-the-front-porch creepy while most are just friendly country folk.
I am no stranger to country vernacular or the accent that goes along with it. In my previous life, I was known to lay it down thick if I thought it would sell a warranty or GAP coverage. To this day, if I'm liquored up enough you will definitely notice a Texan drawl come to the surface. You might even hear the word "y'all" spill out of my mouth. But Friday? Friday at Petro Logan and I met a man whose southern drawl was so severe and his jargon so country that it was as if he were speaking Portuguese.
Logan, Caleb and I were walking toward the arcade while Lynn was getting the check. Logan was walking ahead of me, not watching where he was going. As he was meandering into the path of two older gentleman truck drivers, I reminded him to watch where he was going. Logan scoffed at me and then said, "excuse me," to the men. The first OGTD smiled, patted him on the head and stepped aside to let our circus train pass by. The second OGTD smiled as well, only he proceeded to have a conversation with Logan.
2nd OGTD: Awh, he's doin' jest fine, raght bud?
Logan: Uh huh (with a little fancy footwork). My shoes light up.
2nd OGTD: You jest tell yorn Momma there that you've gut it under kintrol, aincha bud.
Logan: (blank stare) That's my baby brother. His name is Baby Wah Wah.
Amy: (trying not have a blank stare) Yes, I think he has things pretty well under control. Excuse us (SMILE).
We made our way to the arcade where Logan says to me, "Mom, that guy was nice. He talked funny. I think he's from out of town." I said, "Logan, you're probably right."
I, on the other hand, despise truck stops. Generally, I find them to be the most vile and filthy locales in the state. I feel like I should boil my hands and dip my children in vats of Purell after setting foot inside one.
My truck stop embargo is pretty solid, although I do make one concession on our way to San Angelo. We stop in Weatherford at the Petro station to eat and check out the pinball action. There are dozens upon dozens of colorful characters at the Petro stop. Some are seriously bodies-buried-under-the-front-porch creepy while most are just friendly country folk.
I am no stranger to country vernacular or the accent that goes along with it. In my previous life, I was known to lay it down thick if I thought it would sell a warranty or GAP coverage. To this day, if I'm liquored up enough you will definitely notice a Texan drawl come to the surface. You might even hear the word "y'all" spill out of my mouth. But Friday? Friday at Petro Logan and I met a man whose southern drawl was so severe and his jargon so country that it was as if he were speaking Portuguese.
Logan, Caleb and I were walking toward the arcade while Lynn was getting the check. Logan was walking ahead of me, not watching where he was going. As he was meandering into the path of two older gentleman truck drivers, I reminded him to watch where he was going. Logan scoffed at me and then said, "excuse me," to the men. The first OGTD smiled, patted him on the head and stepped aside to let our circus train pass by. The second OGTD smiled as well, only he proceeded to have a conversation with Logan.
2nd OGTD: Awh, he's doin' jest fine, raght bud?
Logan: Uh huh (with a little fancy footwork). My shoes light up.
2nd OGTD: You jest tell yorn Momma there that you've gut it under kintrol, aincha bud.
Logan: (blank stare) That's my baby brother. His name is Baby Wah Wah.
Amy: (trying not have a blank stare) Yes, I think he has things pretty well under control. Excuse us (SMILE).
We made our way to the arcade where Logan says to me, "Mom, that guy was nice. He talked funny. I think he's from out of town." I said, "Logan, you're probably right."
posted by Amy at 8:08 PM
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