Three Billboards Outside Some Places
How I learned to drive and why I love it
Back in the Allsup’s Again
EXT -- EARLY MORNING -- RURAL SMALL TOWN TEXAS
Hwy 15 and Main St. form a T-junction. Main St. runs North to South and Hwy 15 runs East to West.
We are at that T-junction looking down Main St., due South. The street extends like a ribbon in front of us that never seems to end. We see small shops lining Main St. along the way. At distance, we see a water tower off to the right side and, on the left, a the figment of a pine tree further down.
It’s around 8am, and already hot. There is a slight breeze. The Sun is watching closely, like a rambunctious kid creating heat waves, then watching them dance love-starved Charlestons as they rise up to meet the day.
A few vehicles -- e.g., mid-1980s pickup trucks, the occasional sedan, a cattle truck or two, and one very bright Cherry Red Cadillac driven by Barb -- are in town, dotted along in the diagonal parking spots on either side of the street or turning on to Broadway St a few blocks away or passing by, hither and/ or thither, front of us.
Looking left, just across the street, we see a gas station with red Allsup’s trim on top and a blue yellow and white overhang covering the gas pumps, which are themselves offset from the brick walls and glass doors of the gas station.
To our right, a few hundred yards away, we can just make out a [white/ tan] pickup truck slowly but deliberately approaching Main St. The Sun is blaring and reflecting off the windshield, obscuring our view. As it passes, we can almost make out a small blonde or gray haired figure behind the wheel, looking like one of the town’s older ladies going about her business -- or trying to figure out someone else’s.
The [white/ tan] pickup crosses in front of us, pulls into the Allsup’s parking lot and stops. The driver’s side door opens. An adorable little girl climbs out, slides off the vinyl upholstery and lands with a delicate tap. Duly armed with a handful of cash, she walks -- some might say saunters -- into Allsup’s.
A few minutes later, she comes back out, her arms and hands full of all kinds of candy bars and assorted snacks. Plus a Twinkie for herself.
She walks back to the [white/ tan] pick-up, opens the driver’s side door, waves to Barb in the Bright Cherry Red Cadillac who just happens to be driving by.
ADORABLE LITTLE GIRL
“Hi Barb!” (screaming, in a humorous fun way, like she used to at the airplanes passing way up above: “hello up there!”)
Barb waves back.
Adorable Little Girl climbs back up, sits behind the wheel and, after a couple of attempts, closes the door.
She fires up the engine and drives back the way she came.
Oh yeah, she ate the Twinkie in the truck, knowing her dad would have swiped it if she hadn’t.
Yes, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Adorable Little Girl was me (a.k.a. “I”).
Here I am at around that age. Aren’t I adorable -- as the fully accurate moniker above suggests, a moniker that, I should point out, someone has thoughtfully capitalized (you’re welcome)?
I Hope I Drive Before I Get Old
I was driving before I was legally able to drive. I was driving even before I was able to drive.
Now I love to drive. The longer the trip the better.
I remember riding with my Grandfather, watching him maneuver and manipulate his own pickup or tractor or other vehicle, memorizing what he was doing, and thinking “I can totally do that”.
Anyway, here is the opening scene above as I remember it.
It was a typical early morning in late May. Clear blue skies, the sun was coming up and I was sitting in an empty cattle pen. We were branding cattle and discovered one of the cows had some sort of infection. Between her noises and the smell, I became noxious. I felt like I was going to pass out . . . wait, I think I mean I became “nauseous”. I already am noxious. To some people.
Fredo Says, Love My Good N’ Plenty
“Hey, make a hand. Grab my keys and go to Allsup’s. Here is $10. Get everyone candy or snacks.”
Whoa, $10 whole bucks!, I thought.
ME
“OK. What kind?”
FREDO
“Get a mix.”
ME
“What kind of mix?”
FREDO
“I don’t know. Just a mix. You can figure it out. If they have any Twinkies, get me one of those.”
I was game. As mentioned above, after watching my Grandfather, I was fully able to drive.
Plus, I thought the air conditioning would be nice and refreshing, like a cool drink of fresh air. I was, after all, trying to get sick cow smell straight outta my nose.
Plus, I knew not to argue.
Plus, I probably argued a lot.
I had never driven at that point. Well, let me “refreeze” that. I had never “officially” driven, like on an actual paved road, with actual other cars, driven by other actual drivers, going all different actual directions. I did, however, practice on the many dirt, gravel and/ or caliche roads, which are all over everywhere up in the Texas panhandle.
FREDO
“What are you waiting for. Get a move on it!”
I climbed into the driver’s seat and, with appropriate flair, slid the keys into the key-hole, twisted them clockwise, and fired up the truck. I played back watching every person I had been in a vehicle with, to drive or press the brakes. Mostly to drive.
My Grandfather showed me how to turn the wheel and how to brake. Funny, I don’t remember him telling me how to engage the accelerator. Must have been an oversight. I also remember begging him to let me drive. He said, “when your leg is long enough to push down this brake pedal” (pointing at brake pedal), “I will let you drive”.
He died before my leg was long enough.
Never a Phone Book Around When You Need One
I could barely see the road and use the pedals at the same time. At least I was away from the infection smell, though, so there’s that.
I drove to the Allsup’s, turned into the parking lot. Stopped and got out.
Inside Allsup’s, in the candy aisle, I thought back to which candy I had seen everyone who was at the branding eat before. Snickers, Butterfinger, Nerds, Good N’ Plenty, etc. There were a few other customers milling through saying good morning. I checked out and hopped back in the truck. I got a Twinkie -- for myself, that is.
What struck me is that not one person blinked twice at a little, yet adorable, girl driving in and out of the busy Allsup’s corner parking lot. Except, oh look, there’s Barb in her Bright Cherry Red Cadillac. I waived and yelled “Hi Barb” at her. She waived back.
West bound Highway 15 a few miles down and back, I went. Surprisingly, and without any serious or reportable incident (other than eating a Twinkie), I returned to the pens and handed Fredo an armful of assorted candy and snacks.
FREDO
“Stusid, you got chocolate. It’s going to melt.” (Yes, according to Fredo it’s stusid, not stupid.)
Knowing not to argue, I replied:
ME
“You did not say ‘no chocolate’. You told me to get whatever. And chocolate counts as whatever. Besides, most candy contains chocolate, unless it’s like gummy bears. And I don’t see you guys sitting around eating gummy bears.”
“Or you could just eat it now and it won’t melt.”
FREDO
“Get back to the pens.”
In my red ropers, I hopped back up on the pens with the sorting stick[1] and did my duties until we were done branding. As we headed home, reeking of the branding smell. Pungently reeking, to be precise.
FREDO
“Don’t tell your mom that you drove today.”
ME
“No problem.”
I just stared out of the open window thinking of how long the list was, the list of things I was not supposed to tell the other. The list between the two of them was long, and I, of course, was in the middle.
A Note About Branding
Cattle branding is not like you might see in the movies about and/ or involving cattle branding. It is an organized assembly line type operation, involving several folks, starting off one early spring morning and, depending on how many head need branding, can take all day. After which, there is usually a food buffet and beers for all (except me).
Oh yeah, did I mention it’s really pungent. Burnt cow hair and flesh is not what it’s cracked up to be.
Sign, Sign, Neverywhere a Sign
Listen with Signs Five Man Electrical Band
There were next to no signs in or around the town I grew up in. The local bank had a digital sign. You know, with the temperature and individuals’ names that had birthdays. I always enjoyed their sign. It was both factual and celebratory. The temp was often a few degrees off, but close enough. It could have just said “hot” or “hotter than heck” and that would have been close enough.
The lack of signs growing up could be the reason I pay way too much attention to signs now a days. I have a few favorites. Even Hannibal has a favorite sign. It is not rated PG (shocker) so I might just have to put it behind the pay wall, so all the super wise, good looking and smart paying subscribers can see it. We love paying subscribers!
From the Better Rethink that Dept.
Here is a recent favorite sign that had my jaw laughing.
[I had to laugh. It made me think of a pretend news blurb: “in related news, despite a new public safety Billboard campaign, pedestrian accidents in Amarillo have increased sharply in recent months.”
The craziest signs I have ever seen were in Amsterdam. Wow, they hold nothing back there. The one’s in Hong Kong and China might be crazy too, but I can’t read Chinese characters-- either traditional or simplified. I’ll mention here I spent a few years traveling. Traveling was it’s own form of therapy. The first trip to Amsterdam is when I took Hannibal on a two week trip down the Rhine River (yes, I know the Rhine River does not go near Amsterdam -- it was a layover stop).
Her highlight of the cruise was when she threatened the owner of the ship, well somewhat. Hannibal got in the ear of the owner’s top crew member and said “you have my permission to throw him from the train.”
I had to remind her that we were on a river cruise, not a train.]
The Exit Not Taken
Back to the signs. There are some signs I do not follow, like this one. Or the previous one.
The searchers all say, don’t go down this way. I’m sure you can understand why.
Then there are some signs that are absolutely glaringly irresistible, like this one.
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7
This really a rendition of a Neon sign we made from a little model the restaurant people give out or sell in their gift shop.
Anyway, Wilder’s is a great steak house, with nice owners.
It’s late January, 2021 in the middle of The Troubles -- you know what I am talking about.
We’re in the Batmobile driving 1,300 miles from Amarillo to someplace that was not Amarillo. We left in the late afternoon, drove though the angry and vast highways of Oklahoma and arrived in Missouri at around 9:30 pm. Time to get off the highway and rest for the evening. We see signs for Joplin exits, the next three. Or maybe four. We take the second one. At this point, we are totally and hopelessly lost. This is supposed to be Joplin, MO. It just looks like fields. And did I mention it’s dark?
Oh wait, there’s an airport to the right. I have been to Joplin before; didn’t know of an airport.
We turn left and keep driving. Still no town.
Eventually, after maybe 10 minutes of being lost, we arrive right smack dab middle of Joplin, MO. On what looks like Main St.
We drive a few minutes and see a Neon sign beckoning us from far away. “Wilder’s” the sign says. Like a beacon in the dead night. A lighthouse for the forsaken, perhaps. A savior in an otherwise bleak world? You decide.
We pull past the beautiful Neon sign, turn right, and right again into the parking lot. It is 15 whole minutes before 10pm. Are they open? We see someone peek out a window from the restaurant. They are open!
OK. Maybe we get to eat tonight. We approach the door and a super nice lady lets us in.
We are in Wilder’s. We are almost the only people there.
We sit down at a booth table. A fantastic waitress appears. We have steaks and a bottle of Billecart- Salmon for only $60 real American bucks. Chocolate mousse cake for dessert, with just enough whip cream to hint at wild goings on in the back room.
Dinner is now over. Now what, we ask. Where to stay?
Well, we are in luck. Our lovely waitress tells us that, Just 10 miles down yonder to the South, across the OK borderline personality disorder is the Indian Casino.
So there we go. Turns out, it was open, plenty of rooms, and the bars don’t close until 3am. Drinks just $2 bucks each. No one else there. This was one of those instances where it seemed like time itself stopped, and nothing whatsoever was ever happening. I have experienced a few times like that, and I love them all.
Hannibal’s Favorite Sign
Before 2020, Hannibal Anne, my sister(?) and I would meet in Dallas a few times a year. For some reason they liked me then. I love me then and now!
Then being from 1999 to 2020. They don’t now, for some reason. We would stay at The Mansion On Turtle Creek, shop at Northpark and Highland Park Village. Dine at Pappasitos, Bread Winners, Zodiac Room and Capital Grille. Easy. Fun.
For another some reason, on these trips, my sister(?) and I would both get food poisoning. It’s worth noting I have only ever gotten food poisoning when around Hannibal. Made it through numerous third world countries and have been just fine. So, when we would get food poisoning, you can no doubt imagine how compassionately and loving Hannibal Anne is. Such kind words include the following:
HANNIBAL ANNE
“D@mn it! You food psychos! Be quiet! I’m trying to sleep!”
We would eventually emerge from food psycho poisoning, my sister(?) looking like hell, me looking great. Sometimes, my mascara would be smeared and my sister(?) would laugh and say I looked like Vince Neal. I probably did.
Here’s another fun fact. When we would check out of The Mansion or any hotel ever, Hannibal Anne would empty the trash in our room. She would put the small trash bag in her tote bag and dispose of the trash when we were in a different parking lot. I have no idea why. Open to ideas here, so please feel free to share.
OK. Hannibal’s favorite sign. In the early 2000s we were Central Express Way in Dallas. Hannibal Anne was in the back seat and she was mumbling something.
Here it comes, her favorite sign.
Hannibal Anne is muttering, almost under her breath, but still audible.
“Connnnnn” . . .
