Dateline: Friday August 27th, East Tennessee

Do you play the lottery? If your answer is 'No' that's probably because your household income is above $30,000. If you answered yes you either: A) Are poor or B) a degenerate gambler. Look, I'm Irish so I kinda believe in luck, but only on the golf course, not at the Quik Mart. last Friday I was coming from an appointment when I stopped at a rural gas station for a bottled water and some Combos (the Cheddar Cheese and Pretzel kind, not the cracker shell. Those...are horrible). Normally this transaction takes place in roughly 30 seconds. Oh not today! On this day I had to stand behind some local that spent no less than $150 in scratch offs. He kept walking around the counter contemplating whether to play 'Tennessee River $50' or 'Monopoly Money Tic Tac Toe'. Listen pal, I don't care if you drop all your Social Security money on such a worthless endeavour, but please get the hell out of my way so I can for my Dasani. And he kept asking the attendant, "What's hittin' today, lady?" and "What's hot?" Like she knows. This lady is far more concerned with reading her Penny Saver and counting the packs of Marlboro's to help you. And furthermore, don't you think if she knew what was "hot" and "hittin'" she'd tear a role off about a mile long, scratch off $40,000 in winnings and walk right out the damn door? I guess common courtesy and random odds were lost of this gentleman. I looked it up, the odds of winning a state lottery are a cool 18 million to 1. And chances are the winning ticket isn't stashed in a BP in La Follete, TN. You'd be better served taking that extra cash and, I don't know, paying your past due child support or buying a few teeth.

Dateline: Numerous Occasions, Anywhere USA

Those of you who know me best know that I'm not a fan of Mexican food. To me, regardless of the location, it all tastes the same. It's all cooked the same, the menus are identical and its all covered in fried cheese and grease. However, that doesn't stop me from crushing half a pallet of chips and salsa every time I sit down. Mexican restaurants are plagued by a seemingly avoidable issue: Market saturation. Simply put, within any 20 mile radius there are as many as 50 Mexican joints. People say they love Mexican because it's cheap and fast, but that's just because Mexican joint 'A' is hell bent on getting you your Speedy Gonzalez Lunch Special 15 seconds faster than Mexican joint B, C, D, etc. Too many of one business in a given area equals to undercutting of prices and thus quality. There you go folks, your Econ 101 lesson for the day. I would gladly pay upwards of $12 for a burrito if I knew that: A) the beef was above D grade quality and B) It hadn't been sitting in a microwave for the past week and a half. Seriously, think about how many Mexican restaurants are within a 5 minute drive of your house. I can count 4 in my neighborhood alone. And furthermore, I really believe that Mexican restaurants have one CD that they play on a continuous loop. You can drive from place to place and the music they're pumping in sounds exactly the same as it did at the other eatery. Horns, mariachis, repeated use of the word 'corazon'. It's like a Muzak CD mated with a Don Quixote book on tape and played on repeat. For my money I'd gladly take a Taco Bell burrito from the drive through and listen to Led Zepplin on my iPod, but I feel like I'm in the vast minority here. Thoughts?

Dateline: Thursday, Tennessee to Alabama and Back

If you were to look at my schedule you'd see there's not really an entire week where I sleep in my own bed every night. Usually one to two nights out of the week I'm on the road. This week was an exception. I have slept in my own bed for 9 consecutive nights, a record since I started my job. It was a nice feeling, but that doesn't mean I didn't travel. On Thursday I made the trip from Nashville to Birmingham and back. I put well over 400 miles on my car. I was exhausted and by 8:30 I was asleep. However, in true form, I was back up at 11pm when my wife came home from her Book Club as we sat down, caught up and had a beer. Anyway, Birmingham was uneventful. Typical day, nothing too earth shattering. Well- I almost got rear ended by a cop in downtown Birmingham, only to look in my rear view and see him texting while driving (I should have made a citizens arrest). But seeing as it's almost fall in the South, football is everywhere you go. I spent the entire day listening to 690AM The Fan in Birmingham. You know how I know there is a God? Irrational Alabama Football Fans. God wants us to be happy and amused at all times, and these out of work, drunken hillbillies are pure comedy gold. Now, these irrational fans exist everywhere (Tennessee included), but Alabama fans or 'Bammers' as their affectionately known, take the cake. Where else can you hear the drunken ramblings of Gene in Rainbow City at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday? Alabama Sports radio. And where can you hear about Nick Saban's latest bowel movement and how it may effect their blitzing strategy against Penn State? Alabama Sports radio. Ask any irrational Alabama football fan what they would rather see: An end to World Hunger, AIDS and war in one day or a DVD tribute to the Alabama Million Dollar Marching Band and 100 out of 100 are cuing up the Surround Sound. Listen-- This isn't sour grapes, either. I know Tennessee sucks and we're in a down period. And I respect Nick Saban and the winning tradition at Alabama. However, a gathering of some perspective may need to be in order.

Dateline: Mid-July , Central Alabma

Like I mentioned in a previous post, I like to sit at the bar while dining on the road. This trip to a local Chilis was no exception. I made my way in, a UFC fight was on TV and they were running a draft beer special...shaping up to be a solid night. That is until the bartender came sauntering around the corner to greet me. First and foremost, he was wearing eyeliner. Secondly, he wore the exact same pair of jeans my wife had on Friday night. A different cat to be sure. Regardless of that, he was doing a relatively good job and pretty much left me alone. Speaking of cats- a couple of cougars walked in an settled in down the bar from me. Seems as if these women also happened to be hairdressers. Within five minutes, the bartender and his harem of hairdressers were yucking it up at the end of the bar exchanging highlighting tips and what not. As the conversation continued and the women continued to get drunker, people started staring and whispering. At this point the bartender turns around to the entire bar and yells, " I know what y'all are thinking. But I am not gay. I sleep with plenty of women." Sure, pal. Whatever you say...I'm not here to judge. Then one of the women tells him he happens to look a lot like Bret Michaels and truth be told I could see the resemblance. That's when the bartender started thumbing through a photo album he had compiled over the last two years as a Bret Michaels impersonator. Picture upon picture of this cat dressed like the former lead singer of Poison. There he was in all his Bret Michael-esque glory...blonde wig, bandanna to cover male pattern baldness, cowboy hat, Ed Hardy shirt and rhinestone jeans. He proceeds to tell the entire bar how he travels the country while Bret's on tour doing impersonations of him outside of his shows. Well, buddy you may or may not be a homosexual, but you are for certain the strangest person I've ever met in my entire life.

Dateline: Last February, Corbin, KY

I had to go back in the vault for this one. Kentucky, in my humble opinion, is known for three things: Horses, whiskey and bad cell phone service. (Honorable Mention: Kentucky basketball) I made my first foray into the Commonwealth last February to work with a new distributor. Seeing as I had driven through KY many times on my way to Knoxville I assumed I would get to Corbin without incident. Well, was I ever wrong. First off--it snowed...a lot. Then my GPS decided to defy logic and take me down every dirt country road and back channel in the state. A 3 hour drive turned into a 4-1/2 nightmare. No problem though. I'll just get to my hotel, check in and grab a six pack to calm my nerves. A great idea in theory, but Corbin, KY sits in a dry county. Asking me to go a night in a hotel without booze would be like asking a dog to sit next to a piece of raw meet for a month without licking it. This is a roundabout way of saying it is virtually impossible. However, I persevered and stuck to Diet Cokes for the evening. The next day after I had finished my calls, I was determined to procure some alcohol. Therefore I stared driving north. I figured the closer I got to Lexington to more my chances increased of finding a booze store. Once again, I was wrong. After driving nearly 40 miles north I found that every county surrounding Corbin adopting its mantra of being alcohol free. When I finally decided to give up at the BP of exit 67 I finally asked the attendant, "Seriously, where in the hell can I find a cold beer?" "Tennessee" she responded and went right back to scratching lottery tickets. As I turned around to my return to my car defeated I noticed a young boy, no older than 10 playing video poker sitting next to his mother, who happened to be sucking on a menthol 120. Mind you it was 2pm on a Tuesday. I returned to the nice gas station attendant and said, "Wait a second. I can't get a six pack of O'Douls in this state, but Rain Man and Mother of The Year over there can blow their food stamps on Nintendo before the end of business day?" You would have thought I asked her to write out the Pythagorean Theorem she looked so confused. Moral of the Story: If ever traveling through the Cumberland Gap, always bring your own booze.

Dateline: Last Week, Monticello, KY

A lot of times on the road you find yourself in unfamiliar territory. You drive deep into some very rural counties only to find a county about 150sq. miles wide. You think these are just blips on the radar screen, but very often in my line of work, they are goldmines for business. Within a two block radius you can hit enough businesses to satisfy your weekly quota and then some. Well...Monticello, KY (Wayne Co.) is one of these places. It's also here you see things you wouldn't necessarily see in large, metropolitan cities...say for instance Atlanta. Or maybe you would, but not to this degree.

Riding last week I was coming out of one call and heading to lunch. Lee's Famous Recipe Buffet was calling my name. The Colonel and his 11 herbs and spices be damned, I'm a Lee's guy. After killing $40 worth of fried chicken for roughly $4.50 I made my way back into civilization. It was here I saw the most blatant display of public indecency / intoxication / redneckness I'd ever seen.

Two roughnecks were putting the finishing touches on a billboard. As the one gent descended from his perch, I guess he needed to relieve himself from all the Mt. Dews and Pabst he had been crushing some 50 ft. in the air. Did he find a tree to go under? No. Behind a parked car? Nope. He decided to whip it out and write his name all over the side of the road. Mind you, it was 12:30 in the afternoon. And as this guy was pissing away cars were driving by, honking their horns, this guy continued to urinate and wave at the crowd. Like, "Look at me. I can pee in public. And I have a third grade education to prove it." Either this guy is hung like John Holmes or just too stupid to realize what in the hell he was doing. I'll opt for the former.

Listen, as a guy, I've had to go at some inopportune times. Mostly on the golf course before the turn on the back 9. But I either find a Port-O-John or a tree. "I'm going to find my ball over there in the brush" I'll tell my friends but they know what I'm up to. But from here on out, things are going to be different. When I'm taking the Bluegrass Parkway home, I'm just going to whip it out in a construction zone. "Uhhhmmm excuse me officer, I was only pissing. I had my cruise set on 45MPH. Is my fine still doubled?"

Dateline: A Month Ago, A Gym In 'Bama

The hotel chain at which I stay during my travels has a corporate tie-in with a local gym. Stay at the hotel, flash your room key at the front desk of the gym, workout for free, any day, anytime. It's a pretty good deal. Seeing as most hotels have the standard 25 year old treadmill and a water cooler, the gym, packed with machines and weights is a more feasible option. About a month ago I'm running the treadmill when in walked a woman who was undoubtedly a stripper. Bleach blonde hair, extensions, skin so orange you'd swear she was jondis and a tramp stamp the size of a football on her lower back. Yep--this chick was a pole grinder. All that was missing was a gaggle of sweaty truckers throwing their life savings up on stage at her. Seeing a woman you know is a stripper outside of the club is a lot like seeing your first grade teacher shopping during the summer at the mall. It's kind of weird, a little intimidating but you the teacher is always nice, says hello and wishes you a nice day. That, and you know she's probably just out buying her husband a new pair of slacks. Not the stripper. The stripper doesn't buy slacks. The stripper is doing 45 minutes on the stair climber at level 15 to get her ass cheeks firm enough to pick quarters up off the ground. And then everyone starts staring too. Dudes, chicks, grandmas...all of them staring. It's like they've never seen a stripper before. I think these people assume the strippers just hang around the club all day, wearing their nipple tassels, grinding on chairs, paying their bills, without ever going home. I will admit, I stared too, but only because the chick looked like Lindsay Lohan on coke...oh wait...nevermind, she looked like Lindsay Lohan.

Dateline: Wednesday August 18th, 2010 (Santa Fe Cattle Co.)

I spent yesterday working in Birmingham. After getting up at 4am, driving all day, making calls and then driving to Ft. Payne, AL all I wanted was to relax. I first had some clerical work to do, emails to send and a 22-minute heart to heart with the treadmill. After that I made my way to the Santa Fe Cattle Co for a double whiskey on the rocks and a steak. Seems harmless enough, right? (Buzzer sounding) Wrong! First and foremost; I like to sit at the bar. You get quicker service, there's always a TV on and you're that much closer to the booze. But not here. The bartender here sucks. He's unfriendly and makes a shitty drink. Plus his name's Lamar. How many white dudes do you know named Lamar? About as many black guys you know named Chad. So right off the bat, Lamar is not my personal favorite. But seeing as I'm in Ft. Payne I either eat here or the Captain D's down the street. These are my only options. Tonight Lamar is in rare form. The 'double' he poured me had as much alcohol as a Smirnoff Ice and it takes him 10 minutes to me bring peanuts . Then stumble in quite possibly the two drunkest men in the state. The one guy is about 30, the other 55. The begin to tell me that they are stuck in Ft. Payne for the night because their car broke down. They were traveling through the mountains when the thing crapped out on them. I apologize for their troubles and go back to my meal. But these two are dead set on telling me their life story. As the story progresses (and they continue to down LIT's) details of their "car breakdown" begin to emerge. Apparently the older gentleman had just been sprung from prison on a 5 year bid for meth manufacturing. The younger gentlemen picked him up from jail...on get this...his motorcycle. As they drove down Lookout Mountain said motorcycle ran out of gas. And seeing as they had no money (Assuming b/c they had no meth to sell) they decided to walk into Ft. Payne to crash for the night. Call me crazy, but I believe a tank of gas for a Harley is quite a bit cheaper then a hotel room and 17 Long Island Teas. But hey I got a D in Calculus at Tennessee. At this point these two are falling all over themselves and I'm cashed out of my bar tab. Time to take it to the hotel and watch ESPN. That's when the 55 year old, former meth kingpin turns to me and asks if I'd be interested in sleeping with one of his "girls" out on the patio (habitually chain smoking). Between the three women there were a total of 5 legs and 24 teeth, so I took a rain check. Lord knows what happened to those two last night, but my money is on the two of them pushing that bike down I-59S as we speak with splitting hangovers.

A Re-Introduction

As many of you know I have been blogging / ranting for the better part of four years now. However, with my previous work schedule, regular blogging wasn't necessary. But now I find myself traveling...a lot. I find myself in small towns throughout the Southeast with little else to do than drink beer in my hotel room and watch 'Family Guy' reruns. Therefore, why not put my downtime to good use. I'm going to blog again, folks and this time I hope to keep up with it. I'll make you a promise: You continue to visit, comment and share and I'll continue to post. This blogs focus will be the places I go and the interesting people I meet. I already have a catalog of stories so this blog may jump around in its timeline. But it's not the timeline that's important. It's the gas station attendant with only 4 yellow teeth in Alabama that asks me if I'm single. Enjoy.