Junior's

If any of you are familiar with that cinema classic,  “Deliverance,” well I have a somewhat similar story, but it did not take place in the backwoods and no one got molested, …just almost molested. 

My story takes place in a local watering hole.  It would be considered a bit out of the way since it is not in town, but it is easily located on a state highway.  I am going to name the place “Junior’s.” I changed the name because  I don’t want to make "Junior’s" a tourist attraction. It really is for local’s only and when you hear my story, you will know why.  I would have called it," Bubba’s" (since the place is owned by someone’s brother) but that too relates to another well-known cinema classic, “Forest Gump.” 

Now Junior’s has a history.  This double-wide trailer- Yes, I said double-wide trailer, which most people live in, or have car lot offices out of, or have as a luxury home on the lake, well in this instance this large sardine can lined with paneling started off as a eat’n place.  I don't remember the name, it was Someth'n Someth'n Grill or what not. They had the biggest and the best grilled hamburgers and were the first eat’n place once you crossed the state line, unless you count the new Race Track gas station on the other highway, which I don’t believe made hamburgers, but if you were hungry you could get a pizza or fried chicken or those hot dogs that got a nice tan spinning around under heat lamps. 

Most people know not to grill indoors, and this may not be the case of what happened there, maybe they grilled outdoors and a spark flew over and  lit that mobile home ablaze, or perhaps the grease from frying French fries to eat with those delicious burgers caught fire.  I don’t know the details because at the time of the incident I was unfamiliar with the place.  To make this story shorter, the original place caught fire, someone restored it to its glory- minus the kitchen and turned the place into a bar.  Several pool tables were added and a stage.  

If you are hungry when you go there, even though there isn’t a kitchen,  they offer free beer dogs.  For those of you not southern, a beer dog is a hot dog that is cooked in a crock pot with beer. The crock pot is positioned on a tiny table by the door and I don’t know if it is a gimmick to bring in the crowd when the beer dogs are just right, perhaps those who find them mouth-watering, know the smell as well as one might know a turkey is just right by the way the smell of  it fills the house; the aroma must bring patrons in.  I have never had a beer dog, so I can’t say one way or the other.  I have witnessed people eating them and they were not taken to the hospital.  A hospital visit is my gauge if food is dangerous or not.  Hospital = danger / no hospital = fine to eat. 

Please do not confuse this place with the barn further down the highway, this is a double-wide trailer.  I have been to the barn establishment.  On the particular night I was there, there was to be a bikini contest and apparently grandma’s and grandpa’s came out to watch.  One nice woman in a moo –moo (today it’s called a caftan, a moo-moo is not as stylish) pointed out her granddaughter to me, after she threw back a shot of whiskey, and told me that her tiny string bikini clad, oiled up, granddaughter was just precious, while the grandpa in the overalls  without a shirt on, was sleeping on the bar on the other side of her, because the hour was well past 8 pm.  No, now Junior’s is not the barn. If you need to know more distinction Junior’s is on the right and the barn is on the left of the highway, if you are going South.  

I don’t like to brag or feel superior to anyone, but I do kinda fall under the, looks like a librarian description not the lady standing on the side of the street when it comes to looks.  I have tried that standing on the side of the street look, and I just can’t pull it off.  Perhaps it’s because I get road rash when I trip wearing high heel shoes, and prefer to land on my face instead of breaking the high priced fake nails I got to pull off the look; skin will grow back… I paid good money for those nails and I didn't want to mess them up. When properly painted, a good set of fake nails makes you look expensive.  You can take that however you want. 

At Junior’s watering hole, I guess the ladies dress code was crop tops, tore up blue jean shorts and cowboy boots or less.  And the men’s attire was, "just came in off the field," or what we call casual in the south, our “this ain’t Sunday” clothes.  I wasn’t dressed right, but close enough,  I had a button down top and shorts and wedge shoes.  I stand out in a crowd of Southern folks because I have dark hair and skin, and perhaps to the locals I look a little exotic. With that being said, Likes attract Likes, it’s just science.  One time I was out, I attracted the largest guy in the crowd, who might have played defense for the NFL, that's how big he was and I'm all of five - foot  - nothing in height. The crazy linebacker wanted to cover me in hot sauce, and take me to his okra farm but that’s another story. I just wanted you to know I attract the most visible person where ever I am. 

Friday night at Junior’s, I attracted the person who had been drinking there all week and never went home.  Perhaps that was his RV outside that had a friendly dog that greeted patron’s in the parking lot in hopes for a pat on the head or a gentle caress.  Junior’s did not adhere to the leash law or was oblivious to it, because friendly dog was so friendly he wanted to get in my car and go home with me. Friendly dog knew he probably didn’t fit in with the crowd there at Junior’s either and wanted to be saved.  I already have two dogs that like me at home and I do not need another, so I left him behind.   Sorry friendly dog. 

Mr. Magnetic personality, AKA known as very, very, very drunk guy who must have been between the age of 75 or 80 yrs. old, said only a few sentences to me, “Hey! I like you!” followed by a wink and a bearded grin from underneath an Alabama football cap. “Is that your feller?” “You here with anybody?” Normally these are generally questions anyone who wants to get to know someone would ask, but the kicker question was, “you got any friends in here?” Which made me glance around the room and to my dismay; I didn’t have any friends in there. He was drunk enough to keep asking the same questions with the same wink and grin, over and over again, between swallows of his beer, sometimes he would blow me a pouty kiss, to which I winced.  I got the feeling he was interrogating me so he could roofie me and drag me off to some undisclosed location where the police would find me not in the same condition as I was at the moment.   

I rudely ignored him and kept trying to watch the karaoke singer on the stage, who was a special needs kid. He had the voice of an angel, but his arms flailed about and he spun around. His free arm, not holding the microphone,  punched sideways and his head spun around in a jerking motion that wasn't in a head banging fashion.  It was such a mismatch, my ears heard this amazing voice and my eyes watched the boy wildly twist and turn in his own form of dancing that took up the whole stage. I found out later the boy's name is Peanut, and he has a music CD that a lot of people around these parts give as gifts.  And Peanut is blind, but wow, he can sing karaoke!  

My boyfriend was sitting right at the table across from the talkative lush as this was happening.  I tried to discourage the guy and tell him that his Alabama cap did not make him attractive, an I wasn't interested because I’m an Auburn fan.  Usually in the South this division is as obvious, as the battle of the North and South in the Civil War.  But to no avail.  The boyfriend had enough and said we were leaving, and we did.  On the way out he said the most loving words a Southern girl could hope for, “I almost had to kick his *ss!”

Ahhh, thank you for deliverance!

Happy South ya'll!

- Daily Panic