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$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1003
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$ $ $ $ $ss$ "Christmas in Alabama"
$ $ $ $ $ AKA Mexican Wonderland
$ $ $ $ $ $ by Christopher Crowe [1/22/00]
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$ $ "TssT" "TssT"
I'm not racist, mind you, I like the Taco Bell dog as much as the
next guy. But Mexicans have taken over here. The local WAL-MART looks
more like beans and rice. I guess it's the chicken plants. Or
agriculture. Mexicans can farm like no bodies business. I picked up a
stuffed fish, kind of like a teddy bear type Deal, but it's a fish. You
know, for red necks. I'm getting this thing as a gag gift for my
wife's... something or another kind of relative. It gets complicated.
Her Mother's sister's brother's cousin's uncle but-not-really kind of
shit.
We stroll on, with this huge fish, I mean in excess of 3 feet, in
our cart to browse for other Gifts. We are browsing through the
electronics section, trying to find a CD for my younger brother and a
clump of Mexicans (I'm sure there legal, green card carrying citizens and
all) walk by pointing and giggling at my fish. I can imagine their
thoughts. Look at these rednecks. Buying stuffed fish. Hey Horehay,
check out these hill billies buying stuffed fish. Well, you can measure
IQ by the number of teeth a person has, especially in the south. And the
only person with less teeth than a fool blown red neck (also known as
white trash) is Mexicans. That big wide jawed gap toothed grin bearing
down on us. And I remember what the locals call this WAL-MART: "Mexican
Wonderland". One thing you can be sure of, if you see a car-load of
Mexicans in Alabama, they're going to WAL-MART. But then again, they are
used fitting the whole family in one tiny space. Enough about Mexicans.
They make good tacos.
I waited too late to start my Christmas shopping. I do it every
year. I don't know why, I just always find a way to put it off till the
last minute. I guess I like those cheap gifts you only find at the check
out counters at Christmas time. WAL-MART in the south is like a Mall.
Even though we have a huge mall, most people Prefer Mexican Wonderland.
You get to learn Spanish while you shop. A few nights ago I decide to
try and finish up my Christmas shopping and go to WAL-MART late at night.
A time usually reserved for the kind of freakos you end up reading about
in the papers. You see them talking to brooms and mop buckets. And when
they see you, they have this conversation with themselves trying to build
up the nerve to talk to you. So you run quickly to the soap isle. Which
those kind of weirdo's have a real aversion, too. Here I score me a
X-Mas gift for my Wife's mom. Some frog shaped bathroom stuff. Soap
holder, soap dispenser and something else made of frog. Or looks like
one anyway. I think the animal rights people would bitch if it was made
from real frog. Hopefully they tested it on frogs at least. I want to
know its safe enough for my loved ones.
Right about now I've got these gas pangs in my gut. Crystals
(White Castle's to you Northern Folk) is the only thing open here after
2 am. The only problem is this is a soy patty, 2 inch square with
mustard, unions and cheese. And I'm lactose intolerant. I'm looking
left, and right and finally feel that I'm safe to make a break. Good
thing I'm on the toy isle. It already smells like baby shit. I rattle
some toys, pressing all the "try me" buttons I can find and let her rip.
Still some old lady gives me the look. So I ask here if she has any
extra depends. She wasn't amused. When she walked away I nearly died
laughing. I've always wanted to say that.
I finally get most of my items selected and packed into my buggy.
I decide I'm out of a few personal affects so I stroll over to the
Pharmacy section. Shampoo, Toothpaste, Arm Pit smelly stuff (you know,
the stuff that leaves a white trail, keeps you smelling fresh, and the
guy on isle 13 is deathly afraid of) and other essentials. And I
remember I've had jock itch for about 3 weeks. Guys, you know where I'm
coming from. Buying something to take care of this manly problem is more
embarrassing than buying rubbers or tampons. Still, the itch has got to
stop. So I'm bent over, reading labels on these fine hygiene products
when the finest midnight clerk I've ever seen walks down the isle, asking
if she can help me find something. I've got a can of Gold Bonds in my
hand, and a spray bottle of Tuff Action Tinactin (For Jock Itch) in the
other hand. I might as well have wet myself and went and chatted up my
good friend on isle 13.
To add insult to injury, just before she walked over, Crystals had
more of its revenge upon my digestive system. So it really smells like
Anus over here. I figure, fuck it. "Hey, this should be cleared up in
2-3 weeks according to this can, want to go get a movie or dinner at the
end of next month?" I think she saw through me. She just laughed and
went about her business. Or maybe it was the smell, I dunno. But she
hauled ass outta there. I decide on the Tinactin. I've used it on my
Athletes foot, and I trust it to work on my Athletes balls. Which,
around Christmas time, I gingerly refer to them as jingle bells.
So, now to check out. I scratch my nads a couple times, expunge
some gas (as I pass my friend on Isle 13, I figure he wouldn't notice,
and if he did, would probably revel in the funk) and head for the check
out. Only 2 or 3 people in the few open lines. This should be quick. I
push my buggy up to the next open lane and start unloading my goods. The
girl behind the counter looks up at me and smiles. Now at first glance
this girl is cute. Nice rack, cute face. Red Neck / White Trash bleach
blonde hair. But in that moment when she smiles, you might as well have
taken dead skin and wrapped it around rotting meat. Quick tooth count
reveals an IQ of 5, maybe 6. And the ones that are left are gangly,
yellow and crooked. And she's wearing a Santa outfit. This girl really
embodies the image I want when I think about Christmas. She could scare
children and small animals. So, she's checking through my stuff, at an
ever increasingly slow pace when she gets to my nut spray.
Figures, the damn thing has no price tag. I said I'd go get
another one, but this IQ impaired lass decides to save me the trouble and
call a price check. "I need a price check on Tuff Actin Tinactin on
register 9" she sez. I relax. Most people think its foot powder.
Everyone gets athlete's foot. After a few seconds, a voice over the
intercom. "Did you need the price for the Jock Itch or Athlete's foot
Joe-Lynn?" the red neck asks. Thanks, smart guy. "The jock itch, Bubba"
she replies while giving me that polite, uncomfortable look you give
someone when you ask about their dead mother. Merry freakin' Christmas
you red necks. Tell Bubba and his little brother Junior and their Daddy
Bubba Junior I said drop dead. I leave Mexican Wonderland and remember
just how happy I am that I don't deal with customers anymore.
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1003, BY CROWE - 01/22/00 ]