So, I'm driving home Monday around lunchtime after spending part of the weekend at my parents' house up in Pilot Mountain. It was such a gorgeous, sunny day. On a whim, instead of turning off to get on the freeway, I decided to take back roads the whole way to Winston-Salem. This was how I found myself on a two-lane road between Tobaccoville and Bethania behind a black Pontiac of mid-90s vintage that was driving right at or just over the speed limit. Not what I'd prefer, especially on a road that I could drive in my sleep...But they weren't so slow that I could pass them easily, so I just fell in behind them.
The road took us through "downtown" Bethania, where I freely admit that the speed limit drop to 25 m.p.h. caught me off-guard. (No excuse for that - I mean, I'm on the friggin' board of the Historical Association, for crying out loud...) Apparently the driver of the Pontiac took this as a sign of aggression. Because, just after leaving Bethania, on the one-mile (or so) stretch before the two-lane spills into Winston-Salem's bustling Reynolda Road, he/she/it slammed on the brakes. Hard. As in, I WAS NOT following too closely (having just pulled away from a stop sign), and I still had to lock it down to keep from hitting them.
(Tip: when you're trying to wreck someone who, say, is tailgating you and pissing you off, for crying out loud, at least throw on your turn signal! At least pretend that your sudden stop was legit! People, I swear...)
Now's the time for a more thorough description. Like my car, the Pontiac was crusing with all four windows down. Unlike my car, out of each window dangled a painfully white and Spam-fattened arm clutching a burning cigarette. Judging by the passengers' silhouettes, they were rockin' some first class, Grade A mullets, too.
One other thing the Pontiac had that my car didn't - An unrestrained toddler. If memory serves, North Carolina requires children to use car seats until they're eight years old or weigh 80 pounds. This child was neither - couldn't have been more than four or five. And if he or she was in a car seat, then my chain-smoking friends need to invest in a new car seat. That's judging by the way the kid flew around the back seat when they brake-checked me a second time.
Reynolda Road is a four-lane, and my engine's both larger and in better repair. As I passed them, one of the women removed her Doral long enough to shout - out of the window of her moving car - "I GOT A BABY IN 'IS CAR, YA STUPID BITCH!" It's too bad I was laughing too hard to holler back, "And what a lucky tyke it is!" Seriously, let's hope the child who was so imperiled by MY driving survives the illegal car ride long enough to develop asthma from the second-hand smoke inhalation.
I guess I should count myself lucky that none of them shot a stream of Skoal juice at my car...Or I guess I should say, they're lucky. 'Cause you don't f*ck with a redneck's wheels. If they'd laid one single ash on my car, I would've been the one leading the patrol cars on the low-speed chase back to whatever single-wide on concrete blocks these classy folks call home. But I had a book to finish, and sunscreen to use, so I guess I'll never know exactly which of the north-city trailer parks they belonged to, and precisely how many pit bulls they had managed to cram into the 10-by-12 chain-link enclosure out back...I guess that's what I get for being a stupid bitch, huh?
I'm a stupid bitch with electrical issues, is what I am. The breaker which controls almost everything in my house that matters flipped its lid late Saturday night. So now my refrigerator's plugged into a power strip in the living room via one of those long orange extension cords running through half the house. I'm mortified, obviously...But it's consoling, in a way. The difference between ordinary rednecks like me and Honest-to-God white trash is that, when true white trash plug major kitchen appliances into outlets in inappropriate rooms, they don't care. Hell, they probably do it on purpose. (What could be more convenient than having the repository of beer and the TV in the same room, anyway?)
In other news, I'm prepared to grant my future husband Joakim Noah Honorary White Trash status. Over the holiday weekend, Noah observed the sacrifices of millions of U.S. military personnel in classic white trash fashion - boozing it up in public. According to ESPN.com, Noah (who was drafted by the Chicago Bulls last year), returned to his alma mater, where University of Florida campus police busted him on some minor traffic violations. His wheels out of commission, Noah was further busted for walking down a public street at 2 a.m. with an open container of what appeared to be beer. (It turned out he had a small amount of pot on him at the time.)
Well, I mean, really, who hasn't been there? They take your ride, what are you supposed to do? Just not party? Oh, come on. See, this is why Noah can only be honorary white trash. If he were honest-to-God, true white trash, he'd still be on the front porch of his mansion in Chicago on a Goodwill couch hollering at his bug-light.
(In all seriousness...why is it ok to walk around visibly drunk with gads of open containers - say, tailgating at a race or football game - but not at others? Inquiring rednecks need to know. Really, I need to know.)
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