As I was walking out of the mall today, a pickup truck pulled up to the curb and the woman in the passenger seat hailed me. She asked the location of a salon I'd not heard of around the mall, but since I've been gone for the last year, I told her I didn't know and pointed her toward the main doors and the directory.
Then I took a good look at the truck and heard the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies blaring in my head.
Her husband was driving. Between them was a small girl, perhaps five or six years old, and while no child that young should be in the front seat of a vehicle, especially not without chest restraints, the most surprising passenger was the obese woman riding in the bed of the truck. Sitting in a lawn chair, facing backwards, this woman had been given the seat usually reserved for dogs of dubious lineage, as Lord knows she'd never have fit in up front.
The woman asked me if they could park in the deck, and I nodded, then watched as they drove off, the bed sitter seemingly quite comfortable to be riding backwards in an old Ford.
Someone call Jeff Foxworthy. I feel a redneck moment coming on.
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