After getting unloaded at the Army base yesterday I was sent to Paris, TX to pick up some utility trailers destined for WI. When I called the place for directions I learned that they were actually out in the boonies kinda sorta but not really close to Paris. I also learned that they knock off at 3:00PM. Doesn't anyone work until 5:00 any more?
There was no way I could get there in time to be loaded before 3:00, so I went to the only fuel stop with truck parking in Paris and set my brakes for the night. The place was a real hole in the wall but I did learn that there was a bar about a mile and a half down the street. I had also passed a Boot City on the way in and decided to drop my trailer and go do a little browsing.
I bobtailed over to the Boot City and spent some time looking at boots, hats, and clothing. I wound up buying a pair of smooth quill ostrich boots and a new white Shantung Panama summer Stetson. I then returned to the hole in the wall, err, I mean the fuel stop.
At this point I decided a nice little mile and a half walk would do my hip some good and also help me break in the new boots. The Texas sun was blazing down and it didn't take long before that mile and a half was starting to look pretty damned far. My hip was also protesting the activity. I slowed my pace a bit and otherwise ignored the hip.
I found the place, Bill's Sunset Lounge. It looked to be a pretty good sized place although the outside was very plain, early pole barn decor. But there were several vehicles parked out front including one seemingly well cared for Harley. After the hot walk a cold beer was sounding mighty fine so I walked in.
It wasn't very brightly lit and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight. I could then see to my left were a half dozen pool tables with a few playing on three of them. To my right was an empty dance floor area, kinda small, and about a dozen or so small tables. Directly in front of me was a large bar with several people sitting at it talking and enjoying some cold adult beverages. I found an empty stool at the bar and plopped myself down, already tasting that cold beer. The guy on the stool to my right was obviously the owner of the Harley I had spotted as I came in.
The bartender came over and asked if I had a membership. "Huh? Membership?" I replied in my oh so suave manner. She then explained that it was a dry county and, except for private clubs, no alcohol could be legally sold. "Oh." was my extremely witty response as I could see that cold beer quickly slipping out of my grasp. "So, what does one need to get a membership?" I asked.
"Five bucks and an ID" was her reply. Hey, we're back in business here! I happily provided the requisite ID and legal tender, and was officially a member and therefore entitled to the legal consumption of adult beverages. Gotta love those legal loopholes.
I met some pretty friendly people, spent some time in enjoyable comversation, and basically had a pretty good time of it. One guy in particular was good for a lot of conversation. He was obviously of Mexican decent, but spoke with a Texas drawl without the slightest hint of a hispanic accent. The first time he spoke I did a double take. The voice just didn't match the man. He was kind of chubby, dark skinned, was missing his left eye, and upon looking at him he looked more like a bandito than the painter he turned out to be.
He was an excellent conversationalist and a big fan of cowboy poetry which he recited for me happily. It was obvious that he had spent a great deal of time memorizing a good many of them. Turns out he'd had lots of time in prison to learn them. He had spent a year in jail for DUI and that's where he first became interested in cowboy poetry. The poems were enjoyable and most had that dry wit that reminds me of the Irish sense of humor.
While most of the people there were quite friendly, there was this one woman. Bitch is the nicest word I can think of for her at this point. I had been having a pretty friendly conversation with her husband about cigars (he was smoking a very good one by the smell of it). She and a couple of other people were eating chicken gizzards and the guy on my left made some comment about them being disgusting or something and I made a lighthearted remark about how some people will eat anything.
For whatever reason this set the woman off. She began berating me for my comment as I just smiled and chuckled at her stupidity. Her husband told her several times that it was just a joke and she was over reacting to it but she just wouldn't let it go. She berated her husband for not sticking up for her and went on and on. She then said something to him about how she'd never seen me before, that I didn't belong there, she didn't like me, and I should have to leave.
At this point I looked at her, smiled, tipped my hat and said "Ma'am, I apolgize. I was dearly mistaken for not realizing that you had been born without a sense of humor, and for that I am truly sorry". Her face turned beet red as some of the people at the bar busted out laughing.
She then really turned on the shouting works at which point her husband, who had been pretty soft spoken up to this point, bellowed out for her to sit down and shut the hell up before she got them kicked out. She sat down and shut the hell up.
The rest of the evening was pretty mellow. I listened to some music, conversed with folks I'll likely never see again, and finally called for a cab to return me to my 18 wheeled home. It was an interesting evening.
I picked up the load today and am now in Joplin, MO for the night. I intend to spend a nice peaceful evening in the truck.