Excerpt from "SOS"
We stopped at a Food Lion in Little River to stock up on toilet paper, wine and other incongruous necessities for the weekend. The cashier, a chatty, thin, bleached blonde of about fifty, with two front teeth missing, asked us if we were in town for the “shag” thing.
That’s what she called it, the shag thing. Laura’s eyes narrowed when she heard her beloved SOS referred to as “the shag thing.”
I quickly answered yes, we were going to SOS. The cashier said she guessed we would probably go out tomorrow night “being as we was just gettin’ in town and all.”
Laura shot her an incredulous look, saying we would be going out tonight and planned to close down all the clubs.
I grimaced and the woman flashed her half-toothless smile at me in a sympathetic manner.
“Are you going to any of the festivities?” I asked her. I really didn’t know what to call it except SOS, and somehow that wasn’t rolling off my tongue very comfortably. She shook her head emphatically and said no, she didn’t go out much.
“I’ve already got me a man,” she said complacently, as if the only possible reason three women would participate in such a thing was to snag a man.
“Oh,” I said weakly, “that’s nice.”
“Yeah,” she answered, warming to her subject as she swiped our bag of coffee over the electronic eye, “and he’s got the hot tub and supper ready for me when I get off. I got me a good one.”
“It sounds like it,” I said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. But it seemed like we had just gotten her started andshe told us about Chester, who worked construction but loved to clean and cook and was just “the best thing in the world.”
He sounded boring to me, but I didn’t say anything else.
“Y’all be careful though,” she warned us. “Sometimes there’s trouble at those shag things.”
Laura said she’d never heard of any trouble at SOS.
“Oh, my yes there is,” the cashier replied. “Last spring some drunk fool got hit by a car after being at that SOS thing. Just wandering around the middle of the road in the middle of the night. He didn’t have no drawers on neither. Driver didn’t have time to stop, and splattered him all over the road.”
She looked especially satisfied to share that piece of news with us, and proceeded to share some other unsavory stories about SOS. They all had to do with naked shaggers that died, or got hurt.
Laura sniffed and walked away. After we got outside and were rolling our groceries toward the car, Laura said, “Have you ever noticed that almost all rednecks have some kind of problems with their teeth?”
Her question caught me off guard, because I really hadn’t given it much thought one way or another, but that was just Laura. She was always thinking about “stuff.” Like why were there less male real estate agents and pharmacists than there used to be, and what would happen to all the granite countertops put in the new upscale homes once people tired of granite?
“What do you mean?” I asked her, as I was placing the groceries in the trunk.
“Well, it just seems to me that about every redneck I’ve ever known either has teeth missing, like that woman in there, or just overall rotten teeth,” she said. “Do you think they have a phobia about dentists, or do you think it’s some kind of weird redneck status symbol?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t really thought much about it, but her observations made sense. Laura was still talking when I closed the trunkand got into the car. “So what do you think?” she asked.
“About what,” I said. “The teeth?”
“The teeth?” she echoed absently. “No, about us aiming to go out in less than an hour.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but I said we could try.
We stopped at a Food Lion in Little River to stock up on toilet paper, wine and other incongruous necessities for the weekend. The cashier, a chatty, thin, bleached blonde of about fifty, with two front teeth missing, asked us if we were in town for the “shag” thing.
That’s what she called it, the shag thing. Laura’s eyes narrowed when she heard her beloved SOS referred to as “the shag thing.”
I quickly answered yes, we were going to SOS. The cashier said she guessed we would probably go out tomorrow night “being as we was just gettin’ in town and all.”
Laura shot her an incredulous look, saying we would be going out tonight and planned to close down all the clubs.
I grimaced and the woman flashed her half-toothless smile at me in a sympathetic manner.
“Are you going to any of the festivities?” I asked her. I really didn’t know what to call it except SOS, and somehow that wasn’t rolling off my tongue very comfortably. She shook her head emphatically and said no, she didn’t go out much.
“I’ve already got me a man,” she said complacently, as if the only possible reason three women would participate in such a thing was to snag a man.
“Oh,” I said weakly, “that’s nice.”
“Yeah,” she answered, warming to her subject as she swiped our bag of coffee over the electronic eye, “and he’s got the hot tub and supper ready for me when I get off. I got me a good one.”
“It sounds like it,” I said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. But it seemed like we had just gotten her started andshe told us about Chester, who worked construction but loved to clean and cook and was just “the best thing in the world.”
He sounded boring to me, but I didn’t say anything else.
“Y’all be careful though,” she warned us. “Sometimes there’s trouble at those shag things.”
Laura said she’d never heard of any trouble at SOS.
“Oh, my yes there is,” the cashier replied. “Last spring some drunk fool got hit by a car after being at that SOS thing. Just wandering around the middle of the road in the middle of the night. He didn’t have no drawers on neither. Driver didn’t have time to stop, and splattered him all over the road.”
She looked especially satisfied to share that piece of news with us, and proceeded to share some other unsavory stories about SOS. They all had to do with naked shaggers that died, or got hurt.
Laura sniffed and walked away. After we got outside and were rolling our groceries toward the car, Laura said, “Have you ever noticed that almost all rednecks have some kind of problems with their teeth?”
Her question caught me off guard, because I really hadn’t given it much thought one way or another, but that was just Laura. She was always thinking about “stuff.” Like why were there less male real estate agents and pharmacists than there used to be, and what would happen to all the granite countertops put in the new upscale homes once people tired of granite?
“What do you mean?” I asked her, as I was placing the groceries in the trunk.
“Well, it just seems to me that about every redneck I’ve ever known either has teeth missing, like that woman in there, or just overall rotten teeth,” she said. “Do you think they have a phobia about dentists, or do you think it’s some kind of weird redneck status symbol?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t really thought much about it, but her observations made sense. Laura was still talking when I closed the trunkand got into the car. “So what do you think?” she asked.
“About what,” I said. “The teeth?”
“The teeth?” she echoed absently. “No, about us aiming to go out in less than an hour.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but I said we could try.