You have to start somewhere

The inaugural White Trash Tale, as with many of the other stories you will read here revolves around our lost friend Gary. You see, after he met Tonia he dropped out of sight. As is often the case with a new relationship, he didn’t have time to hang with the boys. We were amazed, however, with the speed and precision that Tonia employed in extricating Gary from our group. After only one blow-j behind the air conditioning unit at her mother’s house Gary was lost to us forever. It should be noted that, up until a few weeks ago, any Alamance County resident could receive similar treatment from Tonia for a mere $40.

Because Gary was totally off the radar we had to rely on 3^rd parties to feed us knowledge of his whereabouts. One day Bobby received a call from one of Gary’s ex-girlfriends. She had stayed close with Gary’s family long after the break-up and they had been telling her things about Tonia’s actions that she found disturbing. So she called Bobby to try and prompt an intervention.

The story she told was this: Tonia had been inviting men over to their trailer while Gary was at work. Seeing as how the trailer occupied the same land as Gary’s parent’s house and as such was in full view of said house, it probably wasn’t the most discreet thing she could be doing.

Rather than tell Gary what the love of his life was up to, his mother decided to confront Tonia directly. This altercation ended with Tonia smacking her future mother in law across the face and advising her to mind her own damn business. When Bud (of Jar Tree fame) caught wind of Tonia slapping his wife, he marched down to the trailer, kicked the door off it’s hinges, grabbed Tonia by the throat, and told her that if she ever lay hands on his wife again he would hit her so hard that it would forever ruin her only means of income (I am paraphrasing here).

Gary, upon learning of Tonia’s infidelity and mother abuse took the same stance that he would use for the great many other horrifying incidents he would endure with Tonia. That is to say that he did absolutely nothing.

After hearing this story, Bobby called me immediately to fill me in on the news. He then made me promise not to tell the rest of our group because he wanted to tell the story himself. He knew that we were all getting together for dinner later that night and it would be the perfect venue for story telling.

We all gathered at the Lone Star steak house in Burlington. It was a charming establishment where they serve roasted peanuts as an appetizer and the customers are encouraged to cast the shells onto the floor.  High class indeed for Burlington.

I was dying to tell the story after having sat on it all day but I knew I had to respect Bob’s wish to tell it himself. But Bobby, per usual, was late. And after sitting through the entire meal about ready to burst, I decided that rather than impart the story through oration I would use a story board instead. This would not be a violation of my promise to not “tell” the story.  Hey showing isn’t telling right?

Turning over my steak-stained placemat, I had the waitress supply me with a packet of crayons and I went about the task of drawing the following comic strip. (Click on the image to enlarge)

Click to enlarge

And so WTT was born. This placemat has adorned the side of Trey’s refrigerator for the past 11 years. It serves as a constant reminder that we have an obligation to you dear readers. This might have been the first White Trash Tale but there are still many more to be told.

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Other stories of Gary and Tonia

You can dress 'em up...actually, no you can't

Traveling four hours to a wedding in Pennsylvania was a little inconveniant. Especially since I didn’t know either party getting hitched. I went with my boyfriend who had painted houses with the groom when he was in college. As we crossed the Mason Dixon Line, I had a sinking feeling that I was going to be out of my element. I wish that I could say that it was a lovely wedding. The ceremony itself was fairly normal until the best man busted out in the middle of the ceremony with “Love Bites” on his electric guitar.  Did I mention that the groom was released from prison two weeks before the ceremony? I’ve no idea what he did to get in jail, but that wasn’t relevant on his day of wedded bliss.

We were actually the fourth and fifth people to arrive at the local V.F.W. where the reception was being held. We were led to the basement by an elderly woman who told us that normally receptions were held upstairs, but it was Bingo night and they didn’t want to upset the regulars. We sat down at a table and watched people frantically set up the food table. Suddenly, a middle-aged man in a navy blue satin jacket came racing in carrying a styrofoam cooler. Skeeter (and yes, that was his actual name) had ridden his bike over to Hardee’s to pick up the food for the gathering. I know that it came from Hardee’s because the cooler broke into pieces in front of me and fried chicken came flying out of the bags and landed at my feet.

Skeeter looked up at me and said, “Cooler broke. Chicken on the floor.” Wow, gotta hand it to Skeeter, he was on top of things! Well what was he to do? What any other person in his situation would do naturally. Pick the chicken up and shove it onto the table before anyone else could see what had happened. But he didn’t put the chicken on a plate or even a platter for serving. Not Skeeter. That wasn’t his style. He placed it on the table with the bits of the cooler and bags. He went back out to his bike to get the biscuits, slaw, and mashed potatoes to round out the meal. I couldn’t help but grimace as I watched the groom’s grandmother stick her fingers into the container of mashed potatoes and then into the gravy and then into her mouth…repeat…two more times.

Some couples dance their first dance as man and wife to traditional songs. “Because You Loved Me” by Celine Dion comes to mind. As does “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. But not this couple. Thoreau himself couldn’t be more proud as this couple gave tradition the bird and selected Lynard Skynard’s “That Smell.” I didn’t know quite what they were getting at there, so I decided that it was time to leave. We thanked the couple for a lovely time, wished them well, and headed upstairs through the smoke-filled Bingo room to our car. I certainly hope that Skeeter at least caught the garter. To this day, I can see it hanging off of the handlebars of his bike.

Our county's two drive-ins before they turned to smut for profit.

The drive-in movie is one of those lost pieces of Americana that has sadly gone the way of the quill pen, rotary telephone, and manual typewriter. You would be hard pressed to explain the concept to a kid today without breaking out a copy of American Graffiti and even then you would have to get past their confusion about why the creator of Star Wars was able to make a movie that didn’t feature Jar Jar.

There was a time, however, when teenagers flocked to the drive-in to ignore moths and mosquitoes that flew in front of the projector while a poorly reproduced soundtrack crackled from shitty speakers attached by hook to a partially rolled down driver’s side window. All the while scarfing down popcorn and, with any luck, practicing making babies in the back seat. At least that is the drive-in experience that has been romanticized in popular culture. By the time I was born things were a bit different.

The 70’s were a decade of death for the drive-in. Though there were plenty still in operation (our county had two working theaters), it was clear that the activity was on the decline. In an attempt to remain economically viable, one of our theaters, the infamous Circle G Drvie-In, had changed over entirely to adult films. Allowing lone movie goers the freedom to rub one out in the privacy and comfort of their own vehicle. Keep in mind that this was long before the VCR made pornography a living room event for more discreet perverts.

Though my elementary school-aged self was understandably banned from the Circle G, there was still one drive-in in town offering a unique package of family fun for Alamance County residents. And they had only gone halfway down the path of their rival theater.

Located just down the road from Burlington’s Cum Park Plaza (that name is real even if it does work as nice foreshadowing for the rest of the story) was the East 70 Twin Drive-In. I have many fond memories of sitting on the roof of our family station wagon, eating beef jerky and some of the best movie bought pizza you will ever know, while watching a slurry of family oriented films such as Escape to Witch Mountain (long before The Rock was ever thought of) and The Rescuers. All the while my dad sat in the driver’s seat with a cooler full of Budweiser. By the time the double feature was over, the beer had been emptied and it was time to drive home. It amazes me how drunk driving was not part of our vocabulary in those days.

Yes this place exists

The drive-in would be a thing of the past before I ever managed to get my first date into the back seat, but it didn’t preclude the 70 Twin from being my first exposure to adult activity. You see, as the name denotes, there were two screens at this particular drive-in. One that showed the types of movies I was accustomed to seeing and another dedicated to a much more worldly crowd. What is odd about this dichotomy is that the two screens, while admittedly placed at opposite ends of the parking lot, were in full view of one another.

On one occasion, I distinctly remember being taken to see “Six Pack”, a wonderfully redneck film featuring Kenny Rogers as a race car driver that adopts a rag-tag bunch of orphans to serve as his pit crew. I guess that child labor laws at the time were as lax as driving under the influence penalties. Anyway, as we pulled up to the drive thru box office there was a poster advertising the feature on the second screen., a lusty looking lady in provocative attire lured male movie goers with the tagline “Emmanuel: She lives for love”. I read the words out loud as my father did his best to hurry past the gate and find a good parking spot in front of our screen.

It had been raining that day, in retrospect probably not the best drive-in weather, so I wasn’t allowed to sit on top of the car per usual. I had to settle for watching from the backseat as my dad and our neighbor sat up front maneuvering through what was most likely a case of Milwaukee’s finest. Every once in awhile I would notice my father peering into the rear view mirror. This was a behavior not uncommon for any parent forced to keep tabs on disobedient youth while driving. But I hadn’t been acting up at all. Why bother watching me? I soon figured out that it wasn’t me catching his interest but rather something behind us. When my curiosity got the better of me I decided to have a look for myself.

“Don’t turn around Jon”, my father admonished. This, of course, was tantamount to torture for a child. I could feel my neck involuntarily start to twist around, instinctually needing to know that which had been forbidden. But my father was now doing triple duty trying to keep up with the plot of the G rated film in front (probably so he could convince my mother that he hadn’t been watching porn), snatching glimpses of the adult entertainment behind us, and keeping watch over my fading innocence in the back seat.

Knowing that I was never going to win this war while under supervision, I announced my dire need to pee. This is something that all parents take seriously particularly when neglect could lead to urine spillage in the car. My father had to capitulate. I was set free to wander the length of the parking lot and find the bathroom.

Of course, my attention was more focused upon the rollicking adventures of Emmanuel than that of finding bladder relief. Needless to say that it took me an inordinate amount of time to return to the car. To this day I have a gap in my knowledge of Kenny Rogers movie trivia but there is no doubt in my mind of what Emmanuel was up to.

That’s the last time I recall going on such an excursion with my dad. I guess maybe we both learned something that night. Now we have the multi-plex with THX surround sound for a superior movie watching experience and the internet to cover our primal urges. Technology moves things forward but almost always at the expensive of our past experiences. I guess we are better off for it but I have to say that god I miss the drive-in.