Sunday, September 17, 2006
My partner and I had been together for five years when my parents became ill and not able to care for themselves. As we headed down 95, leaving the safety of our blue state bubble where our neighbors, employers, and friends shared our politics and were comfortable with our lifestyle we crossed the mason dixon line and entered the solid red of the south. As the NPR station began to fade, and knowing there wasn't another untill Miami, I flipped between country music and hellfire preachers before finally turning off the radio and putting in the new Rufus Wainwright CD.
As we exited I-95 and hit the local roads of Georgia the change became immediatly apparent - every other billboard was either promoting the joy of jesus or railing against abortion or gay marriage. On the interstate we had been able to fill up at modern, debit card accepting gas stations which had the advantage of being anonymous, but on the southern backroads, we could only find the old fashioned rusty pumps where you have to pay inside after pumping. Judging the situation, I told my partner Jorge to stay in the car and let me take care of everything, which he did begrudgingly. As I walked into the filthy store to pay, I noticed a poster promoting an upcoming klan rally, so it did'nt suprise me when the toothless cashier asked menacingly "not from around here, are ya'll? "Just passin thru" I said in my best fake southern accent , paid the bill, and walked to the car, feeling his steely eyes on me.
As we exited I-95 and hit the local roads of Georgia the change became immediatly apparent - every other billboard was either promoting the joy of jesus or railing against abortion or gay marriage. On the interstate we had been able to fill up at modern, debit card accepting gas stations which had the advantage of being anonymous, but on the southern backroads, we could only find the old fashioned rusty pumps where you have to pay inside after pumping. Judging the situation, I told my partner Jorge to stay in the car and let me take care of everything, which he did begrudgingly. As I walked into the filthy store to pay, I noticed a poster promoting an upcoming klan rally, so it did'nt suprise me when the toothless cashier asked menacingly "not from around here, are ya'll? "Just passin thru" I said in my best fake southern accent , paid the bill, and walked to the car, feeling his steely eyes on me.
Labels: KLAN RALLY - WELCOME TO GEORGIA
# posted by going south @ 2:38 PM 
