Treacherous: What Could it Mean?
There is something about being an an atmosphere in which you can understand everything that’s being said after being away from such an atmostphere for a long time that can make for smugness. At least when that atmosphere is the Southern United States.
Photo Courtesy of opalandtheidiot
Southerners have a reputation for being stupid. Maybe it’s a combination of the drawl, the overt, unquestioning and judgemental breed of Christianity, the lack of a sense of urgency and a certain form of politeness that comes off as idiocy. But then there are glaring, even shocking examples of stupidity that could be ruining it for the rest of us.
Today I was stuck behind someone going 25 in a 35 zone. I let everyone else pass. I wanted to get a gander at the person obliviously holding up progress. As I neared the orange, mini pick-up, I saw a massive head that seemed padded on all sides with downy flesh, peppered with age spots – a cabbage patch kid made adult sized – with a grey-blue beehive. In the back window of the truck, there was a sticker. A rebel flag with the statement in all caps, “FIGHTING TERRORISM SINCE 1861.”
Shuttle in the Altanta Airpot as photographed by Manicosity
In the Atlanta airport after nearly a year and a half away, I was playing a game with myself. Seeing people in conversation, I generalize, get closer, evesdrop and see how accurate I was in my assessment.
Airport shuttle. A frosty blonde in a Talbott’s twin set is talking to an overweight elderly bespectacled man pushing 60.
Assessment: Born again. W level IQ.
She says to him, “Yes. He’s just wonderful. He said to me ‘These are treacherous times. These are treacherous times,’ he said. I’m going to have to look that up. Treacherous.”
Was it politeness, ignorance or a lack of time that prevented her friend from simply telling her the definition?
“Have a blessed Christmas,” she said before we both got off in terminal D.
Assessment confirmed.
Oh gawd.
We just got back from the south, too, and Francisco never ceases to be amazed by the shows of intelligence on my home turf… to wit:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/collazoprojects/sets/72157622986464413/
WIld West Guns and Gold!
Kate- There were so many more, but he was cramped into the backseat of my mom’s car and would say “Jesus Christ!” every time he couldn’t get a good clear shot. One particular disappointment was the series of abortion billboards on I-95 in Florida.
Oh, man. There are so many of them here, too. My favorite is the adorable baby saying, “Thank you, mom. For not aborting me.” Or something like that. There’s another one that says, “My heart was beating 18 days after conception.” I need to see these animated to bring out the full creep factor.
What the hell is a prayer line?!
A prayer line is a line you call to get someone to pray with/for you, of course. Sometimes you pay, too, I think. Jesus, Candice, where are you from? Canada?
Kate, I adore you, and this is why.
I’m in Texas right now. You’ve blogged about my day, if you just swap the airport for the bookstore I work at.
Awww. So sorry. Some days it’s just not funny anymore.
It’s the 18 days after conception one!
I am SO playing that game the next time I’m anywhere.