So, after a long day of driving, still hundreds of miles from my home, I decide it would be wise to pull off and get some rest. I find this little town called Podunk. Not much to it, but I figure, hey, I only need a place to sleep. So I check into this dingy little motel. No TV, no AC. I laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tired, but not sleepy. I needed to unwind just a bit, so I step out onto the street. It's pretty quiet. The main road through town had a gas station, a little food market (closed), a courthouse, and a seedy watering hole. Now, I'm not much of a drinker, but I wander over to the bar to see if anything is happening. Nothing is, of course. I belly up to the bar, and before I can even get the attention of the proprietor, this fella plops down beside me and starts talking. I'm not really interested in what he has to say, but he isn't gonna be denied this sudden audience. He spoke kinda funny, with an accent I couldn't quite place. At first I thought he might be canadian, as he ended every sentence with "eh?", but he was much too folksy. Plus, he smelled like grits and Wild Turkey.
I never did get his name (I'll call him Bubba, just cuz), but the conversation went something like this:
Bubba: You gotta watch yourself 'round here. These cops is ruthless. They just lookin' for some reason to haul ya in.
Me (uniterestedly): Is that so?
Bubba: You bet your ***. I'm always gettin' cuffed and stuffed for doin' nuttin' more than mindin' my own bidness. They set you up, tho. Entrapment.
Me: How's that?
Bubba: You see that street out there? You know what the speed limit is?
Me: Yeah, it's pretty well marked. 25 miles per hour.
Bubba: That's right. Now y'all go down the highway a spell to Dinkleville, and their limit thru town is 35.
Me: So?
Bubba: Do I gotta spell it out for ya? It's completely unfair and unreasonable. I refuse to be oppressed.
Me: Why don't you just move to Dinkleville?
Bubba: Oh, I already live there. I just come here to hang out.
Me: That's borderline retarded.
Bubba: Natch. What's retarded is them cops that hassle me when I ain't hurtin nobody. But I stick it to 'em. I do burn outs on the courthouse lawn. Sometimes you gotta show a little civil disobedience if you expect to affect change.
Me: Big day tomorrow. I better get to bed.
Bubba: You wanna hang? I'll letcha ride shotgun in the monza, and hold my pellet gun.
Me: No thanks.
There's probably a lesson in there somehwere, but...
I never did get his name (I'll call him Bubba, just cuz), but the conversation went something like this:
Bubba: You gotta watch yourself 'round here. These cops is ruthless. They just lookin' for some reason to haul ya in.
Me (uniterestedly): Is that so?
Bubba: You bet your ***. I'm always gettin' cuffed and stuffed for doin' nuttin' more than mindin' my own bidness. They set you up, tho. Entrapment.
Me: How's that?
Bubba: You see that street out there? You know what the speed limit is?
Me: Yeah, it's pretty well marked. 25 miles per hour.
Bubba: That's right. Now y'all go down the highway a spell to Dinkleville, and their limit thru town is 35.
Me: So?
Bubba: Do I gotta spell it out for ya? It's completely unfair and unreasonable. I refuse to be oppressed.
Me: Why don't you just move to Dinkleville?
Bubba: Oh, I already live there. I just come here to hang out.
Me: That's borderline retarded.
Bubba: Natch. What's retarded is them cops that hassle me when I ain't hurtin nobody. But I stick it to 'em. I do burn outs on the courthouse lawn. Sometimes you gotta show a little civil disobedience if you expect to affect change.
Me: Big day tomorrow. I better get to bed.
Bubba: You wanna hang? I'll letcha ride shotgun in the monza, and hold my pellet gun.
Me: No thanks.
There's probably a lesson in there somehwere, but...
