The place: The Pocono's (Yes in PA, shut up scourge)
In this tough economy some of us have taken to working side jobs on the weekends to make ends meet. I am one of these people.
For years I have worked for cash on the side for a large sleep-over basketball camp in the Pocono's. This year hasn't been any different and for the past 6 weekends or so I have offered my services to this facility. The staff at this camp (aside from the paid staff) is comprised of kids that work the week doing various duties in exchange for a free ride to go through the program (a value of nearly $650). To make things clear, none of the jobs at this facility are "hard" in any sense. But some of them can get a bit dirty and may be a bit of a shock to someone who has never done manual labor before.
A few weekends ago it was a day like any other. The sun was shining brightly, reminding us that summer had arrived. Promptly at 8 a.m. a school bus arrives, "Patterson school districts" written across the side. I feel a sigh escape my lungs? It is gonna be a GREAT day. Now I am not, nor have I ever been a racist. But there is something inherently wrong with bringing 30 children to the country (no matter what color) for manual labor when they hail from a place where the wildlife consists of pigeons, rats and the occasional rabid bum. The location of this sleep-over camp is nestled snugly in the Blue Ridge mountains far from anything that would be considered "civilization" making for quiet days and dark nights listening to the sounds of nature around you. It has been my experience that these kids are in for a bit of culture/nature shock, and this day history repeated itself.
The day was going well, I was given a crew of kids to accomplish a few tasks and things were going smoothly. I fought through some of the cries of "fuck I'm not doing that" and "get the fuck outta here there's BEES in that motherfucker, im not going in there to clean shit!" and we were making progress nonetheless.
Lunch time.
Halfway there thank god.
The group and I were sitting down quietly in the sun on milk crates eating sandwiches and relaxing to regain our strength for the afternoon push. Suddenly like a bad day in Lebanon we hear what can only be described as automatic weapons fire coming from the valley below. Until recently I lived in this rural area my entire life, and I know the type of people that reside in the Cherry Valley. Some would politely call them "Larry the cable guy" fans. I would call them confederate flag waving Rednecks.
I take a bite of my sandwich, a couple of the guys are making jokes about someone being out of shape, its probably me. But thankfully I am a bit deaf in one ear so I don't hear them.
The roar of a diesel engine breaks the silence in my head and I look up to see what I thought was going to be the typical "trans am with a glass pack exhaust" roll by, when I am confronted with what can only be described as the most picturesque redneck wedding procession these eyes have ever seen.
Friends, what passed was a pristine John Deere farm tractor, in all its green and yellow glory being piloted by a bride and groom sitting tandem on the springy metal seat.
The brides dress was a smashing shade of egg shell. You can be SURE was the latest fashion when it was made in 1925. I take comfort in the fact that the dead body she stole it off of must have looked as radiant as an angel on her own wedding day. I shit you not it was reminiscent of Geena Davis's wedding dress in Beetlejuice.
The groom with his arm around her tightly held back the "party" section of his mullet smartly with a black hair tie and what must have been 30 weight motor oil in a tuxedo that I think may have been worn by Lloyd Christmas in Dumb and Dumber.
The happy couple was followed by their Best Man, wearing a frilly undershirt and dusty tuxedo while the Maid of Honor (wearing a lovely shade of peach) followed behind, both riding on four wheelers covered in Mud, of course.
Bringing up the caboose of this hick train to hell was the rest of the wedding party, in a rusted out, white mid-seventies chevy suburban (like a rock buddy, like a rock) wearing Remington "realtree" baseball caps and spitting tobacco out the window of the suburban as they passed.
All the while shooting dirty looks at the fat white man, surrounded by black kids on milk crates, eating turkey and cheese with mayo on white bread.
The youngest of the group (a young man of about 12) had stopped mid bite when this confederate parade began. With a ghastly shocked look on his face he turned to me, mayonnaise still in the corners of his mouth, and said.
"Motherfuckers are crazy around this bitch."
Indeed my young friend, indeed.
rating: 9
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