Onward Hoe!

As many of you may know, I am currently in the process of writing several books. Unfortunately, none of them have made it past the first paragraph so far. Some of them are just ideas. One is only a suggestion that was made to me by someone else who wanted to see me write it. This one, however, I think, has potential. It was borne out of an experience I had last summer as I was visiting my sister. Having lived in New York for a year at that point, I was struck by a scene we played out in the salon. I was getting my hair highlighted, sitting in the salon, head covered in foil, reading a magazine when my sister walked in and said something that made me think that such a scene could only take place in "the blessed southland" (to quote J.Blair). Of course, it's the important part that I don't remember, so I guess I can't write about that particular scene, but regardless, an idea was born. And here it is: cultural vignettes--pictures of situations that could only take place in the South. I witnessed one today (maybe 2).

I have ants in my shed. Mind you, this is the shed where I live, not where I keep my rake. My "landlord" (aka the guy who lives in my front yard and owns the shed) has known about this problem for some time. He first advised me to get some poison from Wal-Mart, which I did. I got the stuff that's supposed to be food-that-ants-eat/poison. I don't think it was poisonous at all. I think the ants liked it, invited their friends and all came back for the feast.

So the landlord came over the other day to ask how the ant problem was. I told him that it was still a problem, and he told me that he had a buddy who was an exterminator. He'd call him and see if he could come over and spray. Now, this man, I think, "has a buddy" in just about every conceivable field of employment. In New York, he'd be like the Italian man who says, "I know a guy." In the South, it's "I got a buddy."

I come home from work today to find the landlord, the exterminator buddy and the exterminator assistant in the landlord's garage (which is at least twice the size of my shed) oooooooo-ing and aaaaaaaahh-ing over his motocross bike. They take approximately 7.3 minutes to spray the entire perimeter and innards (if you will) of the shed and subsequently return to the ogling of the bike, commenting on something the landlord apparently "mixed rich." They each take a turn riding it through the woods behind the house. Exterminator assistant rides with a look of the most illuminated joy spread across his face, hat backwards, cigarette clinging for dear life to his lips as exterminator buddy informs us that "he used to have one, an' he raced it 'til his deddy solt it fer crack."

Now these gentlemen were really the nicest of guys, willing to do anything for my landlord, and my landlord, I believe, would do anything in his power for them. Because that's how it is in the South, and I like that.