The Spit   

You Heard it Here First

By Tracy Farr
Editor, The Daily Spittoon

I read an article the other day that said Mr. Joe Average American spends seven years of his life commuting back and forth to a job that he hates, working with people he can’t stand. Once he gets home, he spends eight years of his life looking for the TV remote control, and then 10 years of his life watching reruns of cop shows on his big screen digital television. When he finally drags himself away from the electronic altar, he spends the next 25 years of his life sleeping, probably having nightmares about cars, work and broken TVs.

What a waste of a perfectly good life.

Me? If I’m not dead or dying, you can always find me at the Stinky Creek Saloon. I’m the one wearing glasses in the back booth, sucking on a tall cool glass of ice tea. I like mine with two lemons.

"So, what are you going to have today, Trace – the usual?”

That’s Betty Wheeler, head waitress. Not much to look at, but boy can she cook hash browns.

“I’m not sure,” I tell her. “I think I might go out on a limb and try something different.”

“Well, let me mark this day on the calendar.” Betty acts like she’s put out, but that’s just a front. Deep down inside she’s a pussycat. “When you decide, just wave your arms, or jump up and down, or yell or something. You know where to find me.”

Yep, Betty Wheeler – she’s been here longer than anyone, except for Bud. He owns the place. He saw her making hash browns and hired her the same day. She’s not too good on the chicken fried steak, but that’s okay – Bud usually takes care of that.

“Hey, Betty. I’ve made up my mind,” I yell at her. “I want the chicken fried steak, with extra gravy, and two pickle spears on the side.”

“The usual. So why do I even ask?” Betty mumbled.

“Tomorrow will be a new day, Betty. I’m really going to go out on a limb tomorrow. You just wait and see.”

“Yeah, right – all talk and no walk.”

Betty – she can really roll those eyes, can’t she?

Some people would say I waste more time than I spend sitting at the Stinky Creek Saloon, but I disagree. By sitting still, observing what’s around you, by thinking and listening, you can learn a lot about people – and for that matter, life in general. Every day is like watching a new movie at the show – and it’s even better when you can watch the show while eating a huge slice of Bud’s homemade double fudge pie. It’s not on the menu today, but that’s okay – I don’t mind eating the homemade banana pudding.

And speaking about watching the show, look at Bob Greeley over there. He’s the big guy at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. Now, I must warn you; watching Bob is not like watching a NEW show. Bob is a rerun. What you see today, you’ll see tomorrow. And if you were here yesterday, or last year, you’d be seeing exactly the same show.

For example, Bob’s reading the newspaper now, but watch. He’ll get finished with the sports page, fold the paper over not one, not twice, but three times, look around to see if anyone’s watching, then he’ll sit on it so no one will take it. He’ll dump some sugar in his coffee, stir it with his little finger and – did you see that? Happens every day. He sticks his pinky in the coffee then jerks it out because it’s too hot. You would think after years and years of scalding his finger he’d learn to use a spoon. But no, he can’t learn – like I said he’s in syndication.

I like Bob. He’s a good friend of mine. But boy, does he need to get a life.

Many years ago the Stinky Creek Saloon actually served liquor by the bottle and glass. But that was before the townsfolk voted to make Crappie County a dry county. Boy, I remember it like it was yesterday. This place was packed to the rafters. We all sat in here the night before the law went into affect, raised our beer glasses at one minute before midnight, and drank the last drink we would ever drink in our favorite tavern. I think most of us cried ourselves to sleep that night – I know I did – but the sun came up, a new day dawned, and the Saloon opened like usual. Sure, beer was off the menu, but Bud learned to make banana strawberry smoothies that could send you off to sugar heaven.

One day, when Bud was taking a break, I asked him if he was ever going to change his sign.

“Heck no,” he said. “Crappie County may be dry, but to me, in my heart of hearts, this place will always be a saloon. And it will remain a saloon till they pry the spatula out of my cold dead hand.”

I think Bud watches too much television.

So, right about now I bet you’re wondering “who is this guy,” and “why does he spend so much time at the Stinky Creek Saloon.” Well, I’ll tell you.