Ralph's General Store
October 2nd, 7:00 am. It's a lovely Saturday morning, and I thought I'd take a trip down to Ralph's to check out the sales on tube socks, and listen in on the latest town gossip. Besides, Myrtle, my next door neighbor, had asked me to pick up some Moon Pies the next time I was out and about. Ralph's had been busy preparing for the big sale all week. Their weekly paper had advertised half-off on Metamucil, and the whole town, ecstatic with the news, came out in droves. This made parking tough, so I had to double park in front of the ol' pinball arcade down the block. It made me wish I had some pocket change to see if I could top my old high score of 22,00,000 on the Bonanza machine. But, I didn't, so I just ambled past and into Ralph's.
According to the weekly paper, the Moon Pies were on aisle 5, but on my way there I noticed Herschel and Dorothy over on aisle 2. Herschel is the oldest man in Rocky Top. How old he was precisely was a local mystery, but since he had fought in both World War I and World War II, the general consensus on the street was around 110. But ol' Herschel was a real trooper, and had been awake since 4 am that morning watching the weather channel. In fact, Herschel had been coming by Ralph's every Saturday morning since it was founded in 1949. Well, he and Dorothy were engaged in a riveting conversation about their favorite fall sweaters. Dorothy was wearing hers - a dark brown polyester/cotton blend with a 6-point buck embroidered on the front. Herschel was impressed with the embroidery, and remarked that it reminded him of a similar sweater he once had in the early 1960's, only there were two bucks, not one. Well, actually, they weren't bucks, they were wolves howling at the moon, he said.
Oh, the store was a bustlin' with good conversation. And for many, Saturday morning at Ralph's was the highlight of the day, if not the highlight of the week. I thought I might swing by the deli and say hi to Darlene. But, lo and behold, on my way there, I ran into an old man Jerry, who works in the artificial knee-cap factory down the street, and who goes by the name "Papa Goose". He was raising eyebrows all around Ralph's with his favorite fall sweater, which was homemade and had one of those iron-on pumpkins on the front. Papa Goose had attracted a small crowd, who all stood around in admiration. "Oh, what a pumpkin!", one said. "That sweater sure is something, Papa Goose. And homemade, eh?", another one said with a grin. I didn't see Darlene in the deli, so I continued on until I bumped into Earl on aisle 4, the frozen food aisle.
Now, I don't subscribe to the evolution theory, but with people like Earl in the world, I begin to think maybe I should. They say that there's a lack of evidence for ape-to-man transitional fossils, but archaeologists obviously have yet to discover Earl, who had once been mistaken as Sasquatch at a local campground. He is the burliest man in Rocky Top and, with the exception of his face and palms, every visible square inch of his large stout body is covered with thick black hair. He seemed to be doing well, though. He told me how, despite the economic recession, the cesspool pumping business was a boomin'. "We pumped a record 6 cesspools last week!", he said with enthusiasm. I was glad for him.
Tennessee Valley Fair
I related to Earl my recent experience at the Tennessee Valley Fair, from the funnel cakes to the Ferris wheel.
"Oh, yeah?", he said. "Did ya see Jugglin' Dale Jones? He's such a hoot, ain't he? My personal favorite is the arm-wrasslin' contest. Ya know, they say the old man Herschel was the Knox county arm-wrasslin' champion back in late 60's."
"Herschel? Knox county champion?", I said with amazement. "Hot diggity dog..."
"Sure was. Oh, and did you see #957, the reigning dairy cow champion? Ain't she the most beautiful bovine you ever seen?"
I agreed. I described in vivid detail how #957 and I had bonded so intimately that day at the fair. I went on to tell him that thanks to Myrtle, my neighbor, I knew all the sweet spots - The World's Smallest Horse, The Hypnotist and Hypno-dog, the Simulated Cow Milking Exhibit, etc.
Well, I didn't really feel like talking to Earl anymore. He's one of those people who sweat profusely and generally smell bad, probably from working in the cesspool pumping business. So, I bid farewell and strolled on over to aisle 5, which is where I ran into Dean Chicowski and family. They were all wearing matching fall sweaters - olive green with beautiful turkeys on front. They all beamed with bright smiles, and greeted me in unison. I congratulated him on his recent landslide victory in the Bluebell Chicken contest. His chickens had taken home the top prize at the fair, making him the talk of the town. I'd probably be happy too had I won the Bluebell Chicken contest.
UT Symphony
He asked how things were going, and I told him how I had recently enjoyed an afternoon at the UT symphony. Dean loves the symphony. He leaned over real close to me, glanced around to ensure nobody was within audible range, and whispered, "That's my secret, Erik. I play classical music for the chickens in the hen house. There's something about it. They love it. ""Yeah??", I said in a muffled voice. It's amazing what you can learn in Ralph's.
"Sure is. They looove J.S. Bach, especially the Mass in B Minor", he whispered. He started off on a tangent about his very first Bluebell Chicken contest, which I had heard a billion times, but I quickly steered the topic back to the symphony performance. He was a talker, Dean was.
"Well, I really enjoyed the symphony. They sounded wonderful. They performed contemporary American composers like Aaron Copeland, Lucas Richmond, and Michael Torke." I wanted to tell him about that terrible poetry right before the intermission, but about this time, a loudspeaker paged the Chicowski family to the front of the store for unspecified reasons. I suspected that ol' Ralph himself wanted to shake his hand for the big win at the fair.
We parted ways, and I found myself right there at the Moon Pie display. What luck, I thought. And, Myrtle was in luck, too - Ralph marked 'em down by 25% for today only. I picked up a box and made my way over to see Barb at the checkout lane, who had been working faithfully at Ralph's for over 30 years. Ralph's is kind of small, so there's only one checkout lane, which meant there was a line of about 10-12 people waiting. Luckily, Barb was a pro, and most of them only had one item anyway - Metamucil. Directly in front of me stood Dorothy, wearing that lovely brown 6-point buck sweater. Barb really admired the embroidery, she said. I noticed that, among other things, Dorothy was purchasing a bottle of NyQuil, the original green flavor. A shudder suddenly went down my spine.
I have a lot of questions for God when I get to heaven. Did Creation really only take 7 literal days? What really happened to the dinosaurs? Why was there so much suffering and evil in the world? Why did the wicked seem to prosper, while the righteous struggle? But, more pressing than any of those questions was the persistent question of NyQuil. For me, the mere existence of NyQuil speaks volumes about the paradoxical nature of our universe. It's something that works wonders when you find yourself indisposed with an illness, BUT, was it absolutely necessary for the original green flavor to taste that terrible? How God can allow to exist anything whose ends are so good, but whose means are so evil - this has always been a profound enigma to me. But, I digest.
I nodded to Dorothy, and she smiled back. She bagged up her NyQuil, that wretched vile green fluid, and bid farewell to everyone until next Saturday morning. I laid the box of Moon Pies on the conveyor belt for ol' Barb to scan, and she greeted me with her usual smile.
"Why, hello there?", she said with that Southern hospitality so peculiar to Rocky Top, "is this gonna be all for ya, sweetie?" I nodded in the affirmative.
I asked her how she was doing. She told me that she had just finished a month-long colon cleansing program and was feeling pretty good. I was glad to hear it. She told me how September came in like a lion and went out like a lamb. I heartily agreed. I asked her if she was also experiencing the problem with stinkbugs seeking refuge from the cold inside her house. She replied in the affirmative.
"Those stinkbugs are really comin' in to roost, aren't they? It beats all I've ever seen! But they won't hurt nothin', darlin'. My husband, Clarence, thinks they're good luck!", she said with a wink and a smile. "How's Rocky Top treatin' ya these days, honey?", she asked, as she scanned the barcode on the Moon Pies.
I didn't quite know where to begin. Much had transpired over the month of September. I had my good days and bad days, like we all do. School had kept me occupied. I told her all my classes were going well, and that I hadn't been in any fistfights yet. For the most part, everybody I had met thus far had been friendly, but there were a few stupid people, too.
"Well," she said, "you know what they say. Life is hard, but it's even harder if you're stupid."
Barb is as wise as an old owl, and has a way with words. I told her how I disappointed that I miss "Boomsday", the local Labor Day fireworks show, on account of being out of town.
"Oh, Clarence and I couldn't make it either on account of his enlarged prostate. It swelled up like the dickens that day, so we just stayed home, had some leftover meatloaf, while Clarence iced down his prostate", she said with a sigh. "Daisy down the street went, though, and said the fireworks were spectacular."
I expressed my sympathies for Clarence and wished him well. Barb tabulated the total for the Moon Pies. Ralph's is kind of small, so they don't have those fancy electronic cash registers yet. Instead, they just tabulate everything with one of those calculators with the paper rolls. She showed me the total, and as I fished around in my wallet, I continued to recount the events that had transpired over the month of September.
UT Football Game
"And, last week, I attended my very first UT home football game! Fun, fun, fun!", I said."Oh, did ya now? That's where Clarence and I met over 57 years ago - Neyland Stadium", she said looking outside with a dreamy nostalgic expression. "Isn't it... great?".
I nodded in agreement. I tried my best to articulate my feelings at witnessing all the bone-crunching collisions, the intensity of the Volunteer fans, our lackluster second-half performance, the heart-wrenching overtime, and finally the victorious comeback at the end. It was a good game, and Barb heartily agreed.
Before I knew it, Barb and I had been chatting for over 10 minutes there at the cash register, and there was quite line of anxious people that were all wondering what the hold-up was. Earl was still sweating profusely and probably still smelling generally bad while Herschel was sound asleep in his electric powered cart. Fortunately, Papa Goose was still raising eyebrows in the checkout line with his homemade pumpkin sweater. They all loved it, that sweater. I paid for the Moon Pies, I told everyone I'd see them next Saturday morning, and headed out the door in anticipation of the big Bingo game later that evening.
And that's the latest gossip at Ralph's!
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