It’s the Pitts: Welcome…Now Git
by Lee Pitts
Some people might call me an eavesdropper, nosy Nelly or a snoop, but I like to think of myself as a researcher.
My favorite place to do “research” is a coffee shop, but we don’t have one in our small town. We do have a bakery which serves up fabulous doughy creations, along with local gossip.
My research at the bakery is facilitated by terrible acoustics, so I can’t help overhearing everyone’s conversations, especially if they talk really loud like the realtor lady who was attempting to sell a house to some poor suckers from the city.
Much of what the realtor lady was saying was a bunch of cow pucky, and she made our town sound like Shangri-La. Because we don’t want any more people moving here, I stopped by the visitor’s table on my way out and set the city slickers straight on a few things, which I’m sure their realtor appreciated.
“We have bad water, more bars than churches and no public charging stations,” I said. “What would really help are gas stations giving away free fuel to all the pickups roaming our streets, many of which aren’t paved.”
I continued, “We don’t have a mayor or a theater, and there’s no place to buy a fast food burger. We do have slow food because it takes the pizza delivery driver 45 minutes to get here. The best place to eat in town is called The Greasy Weiner, and it’s a food truck.”
“We have four bars and two liquor stores, and the local AA group has to go to a neighboring town to find a place big enough to hold them all,” I added. “If you hear about a mall in our neck of the woods, it’s not a place to buy a wedding present or a Hot Dog on A Stick. It’s what a bear has done.”
I kept going, “We don’t have a geologist or a gynecologist, but we do have a Goodwill drop-off. However, they are very picky and rejected my last load of clothes. Speaking of which, there is no place to buy clothes in town except at the hardware store, which offers a very nice selection of Carhartt hoodies.”
“Several of our residents work at the 50-year-old nuclear power plant that is eight miles away. After it was built, the utility company discovered it sits on top of the biggest earthquake fault in the country. The plant was scheduled to be mothballed because it’s so old, but all the Smart Cars have drained our collective battery and we suffer frequent blackouts. So, they’re gonna let the nuke plant run a little longer,” I said.
“But, no worries. We have regular tests of the emergency warning siren. Since my town and a neighboring one share only two roads out of town, we’ll all be sitting in the world’s biggest traffic jam when the atomic cloud arrives. Make sure you’re windows are rolled up,” I told them.
I continued, “We don’t have a train but we do have a Subway. It’s the kind where you can buy a sandwich. We have more horses than lawyers, and we like it that way. We have a fabulous nail artist, but her husband is a house painter and there have been rumors the Chanel, Dior, Hermes or Gucci nail polish you’re paying for is actually Sherwin Williams.”
“Our cemetery is growing faster than our town, and the reverence surrounding our bone orchard was destroyed when the bureaucrats built our new sewer plant right next door,” I went on. “The minute it was turned on, all of the beautiful flowers decorating the graves turned brown, even the plastic ones.”
“We don’t have a hospital or an urgent care facility, and by the time an ambulance arrives you could be stiff as a concrete sidewalk, which we also don’t have,” I said. “We are surrounded on all four sides by deadly beasts. White sharks patrol the ocean, while mountain lions and bears roam the state park surrounding us. I’ve killed six rattlers in my driveway and saw a mountain lion walk down our road in broad daylight, so don’t forget your pepper spray.”
“We do have a gun store but it’s located next door to our post office which is not a good idea if an employee ‘goes postal,’” I continued.
Finally, I asked our guests, “If our town is as great as your realtor says, why doesn’t she live here?”
