Oh How I Missed the South.
I have learned in my vast travels that there is always one certain business type that over saturates any given destination. In New York people scoff at the bounty of Starbucks, although there always seems to be a line around the block for the nectar of an extra hot no foam soy latte. In Florida, I was astounded by the bevy of Sushi-Thai restaurants, however horrified I was by the bastardization of both Japanese and Thai cuisines. And now after a fantastic road trip from Virginia to North Carolina I have discovered yet another gem that floods the streets below the Mason Dixon Line.
They are a fusion between pawnshops and gun shops called Pawn and Gun Shops. (Clever I know.) Typically these are differentiated by owner. For example Hal’s Pawn and Gun might be on Rt. 7 while Jeb’s Pawn and Gun might be located a few blocks over on Rt 121. Frightening? For a gal unaccustomed to such a high volume of either, the fusion was mildly overwhelming. However, as my journey south continued, the sheer proximity of the dynamic duo caused me to temporarily consider trading in my work laptop in for a glock.
I opted against it since I would have been fired and I think I can safely assume I would be a terrible shot, however I did enjoy a brief fantasy involving me sporting a coonskin cap and riding horseback in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. I am now back in NYC gun-less and fancy free, but that sweet memory will always remain. And now time for a sporadic moment of gratitude for those things NYC. Thank you to the homeless man whose obscenities alerted me to the fact that my shirt was nearly entirely unbuttoned on my walk home today. No wonder that breeze felt so glorious…
It's like how everyone in the South smokes. When AJ and I were driving through Texas, the guy who rang us up for gas had a cigarette dangling from his lips — good thing it was far away from the pump? There are definitely times when I want to embrace my inner hick and walk around barefoot and drink PBR from the can. There are other times where I want to be in a Trader Joe's proximate location. And I am not ashamed.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
that has got to be dangerous. at least he wasn't shooting near the pump i suppose.
Next time your traveling from VA to NC, pick me up tow Glocks.Thanks in advance.Dad
Wait- tow Glocks? or Two?:)
and i thought you were going to name the anomaly of the “bar-b-que” joint that pervades both of the Carolinas! I’m of the opinion that bar-b-que establishments over-saturate my home state and several surrounding states. And until I succumbed to the delectable taste of slow-cooked, vinegar-infused pork, I spent almost 17 years turning my nose up at the consistently hick-named establishments on nearly every N Carolina corner: Henry James, Carter Brothers, Stamey’s, Kepley’s – to name a few in the High Point/Greensboro area. This attitude was somewhat akin to that of New Yorkers towards Starbucks. But now, every time I return to visit, I can’t leave without having bar-b-que – often from Carter Brothers. Perhaps one day you’ll succumb to the beauty and convenience of the pawn shop/gun shop – like I did with hick bar-b-que restaurants
oh i think i shall nikki. very soon!