"Hot dogs is my life, man!"

I had the pleasure of going to a southern drive-in theater to see a movie. I think the word theater is used loosely here as most theaters have some semblance of art through décor and aesthetic presentation to patrons . I’m pretty sure ‘theaters’ don’t have monster trucks revving up engines like a redneck Daytona 500 with kids swinging on truck nuts wearing shirts that say 'I love pork rinds'.



I think a drive-in theater in the south shouldn’t be called a theater, but more of a ‘situation’, cause you aren’t sure what you are going to see. You go to a southern drive-in theater expecting to sit quietly watching a nice picture film in your ’92 Lumina but you end up meeting a kid named Freebird with a mullet who brought his own bee-bee gun to shoot at chickens cluk buh-cawking in southern accents - some chickens are talented.

First off I found out that EVERYTHING comes with chili-cheese: hot dogs, hamburgers, bbq, and probably even meth. I can see some lonely Alabama drug dealer going “Meth and chili cheese...$20!”. Given the recession that’s probably a good deal, you gotta be thrifty in this economy.
I ordered a hot dog and BBQ sandwich. If you don’t order BBQ in the south you are probably a terrorist. If you don’t like BBQ and sweet tea, well God help your soul, you are the anti-Christ.


The nice frumpy gal who ran the concession stand was bigger than a pregnant planet, a planet pregnant with another planet, which is fine, because if I’m going to take food advice from someone I want it to be someone who looks like they know the best buffet line in town. I’m just saying this future truck driver probably knows what she’s talking about when it comes to food and cholesterol.

I order a hot dog, find out that it doesn’t come with relish, but I can get chili-cheese- I didn’t even ask for chili-cheese. Great. I also say I want a BBQ sandwich (cause I’m not a terrorist), and I sarcastically asked what it came with. I was given the proud answer of “We can put chili-cheese on it for ya!”. Great. You know you offer great BBQ when you have to add an entire different entrée to the sandwich. I’m sure great Texas BBQ also has a KitKat bar on top, cause hey, the BBQ just isn’t good enough by itself. Also the official drink of rednecks is definitely Mountain Dew. These deodorant deprived bi-peds drink this beverage like it’s the blood of Dale Earnhart, Sr on tap. I think I saw a 17 year old mom breast feeding some hair-lipped baby with Mountain Dew from one titty and Mello-Yello the other titty. Kid wasn’t tapping out with his baby hands, he was smiling, so I’m sure he was enjoying the delicious titty juice, either that or just dreaming of the first day of deer season.
All the food wasn’t even $10. I guess chili-cheese is inexpensive to make.


These were the concession dining options
At a drive-in situation the real show is actually before the show. This particular theater/situation had a playground right in front of the movie screen, so put on your wolf howling at the moon shirt, get a lawn chair, fill up the Big Gulp with Mountain Dew and watch the redneck kids run around like new pigs born in a barn.

Straight away I meet a kid named Tacoma…like Toyota Tacoma. He was 6 so you know he was named after the truck. This has to be a great moment in redneck history- naming your kids after vehicles you WISH you owned. Most rednecks are driving a tractor with a converted lawn mower engine, but I guess it’s good to dream. The kid’s name was Tacoma. How does that happen? Is there a moment in a Wal-Mart parking lot where Ricky Billy (great redneck name) and Charlene are confused as to what to name this future Jiffy Lube assistant manager, then all of a sudden Ricky Billy spits out his chewing tobacco and says “Charlene, look ‘aht that rih’dur, I tell yu whut now, that’s the purdiest thang I’ve ever seen rih’dur!”. Just then someone driving by looking like Billy Ray Cyrus I comes strolling by in a Toyota Tacoma, “Charlene baby, let’s name him Tacoma! Hell yah now! That’s a proud name rih’dur!” Next they go inside to buy some mac’n cheese then hurry back to their Streamline RV so they can make Tacoma’s future brother…F150. I’m sure he’ll be a lil outlaw.


After watching Tacoma pick his nose and stare at his boogers with the confusion of wondering to eat them or wipe them on the mullet of the 5 year old eating tree bark by the teeter totter. Such a conundrum to solve, I left him to resolve on his own while I embarked on meeting more outback intellects.

Next I meet a delight named Austin- a 7 year old that will be 8. He was very clear on letting me know he will be 8. I told him I think that’s how it works. I don’t think you can skip ages. If you are 7, yep you are going to be 8. I’m not a math major, pretty sure he won’t be either, but I’m pretty sure if you are 7 then you are looking at 8 dead ahead. He also tells me the way to make an 8 is draw a circle and then a circle either below that circle or above the other circle. Clever. I guess the choice is mine…I can just draw 2 circles on top of each other, and BAM! I’ve got me an 8. All these years I’ve been making them with squares, but now I know it’s just a circle on another circle. You learn something every day they say.

Now you have to understand this Austin fella. He was huge. Probably 135 pounds…for a 7 year old! He looked like the Epcot center with a shirt on. He could easily play front line for any NFL football team. His face was smaller than his huge balloon size head. It was like his face went in the dryer and shrunk but he forgot his head, cause it was like a medium size face on a XLarge Mr. Potato Head – just did not fit.


He was fun to talk to. I asked him his name. “My name is Austin James Mots”. Well ok, I didn’t ask for the full name, but thanks. Rednecks like to volunteer their full name as much as they will tell you their hourly wage unsolicited. “I got me a job over at the Dollar General…$11 an hour, yup, plus benefits. Ain’t lyin to ya now”. Ok. Nobody asked, but thanks.

I asked Austin what he had to eat and he said “hot dog”. I said what did you eat earlier today, and he said “hot dog”. I asked what is your favorite food and he said “hot dog”. I’m seeing a pattern develop here. I’m sure if he were on death row, which might happen, his last meal would be hot dog washed down with some beanie weenies. Sensing the future of this conversation, I’m locked in, I asked him what he liked so much about hot dogs, and he said “Man it’s just the flavor I tell ya. You get a good hot dog, I’m talking about a nice one like over‘er at the flea market, and man you just can’t beat it. Hot dogs is my life, man. I love ‘um.” I know what isn’t his life….green beans and brown rice. His stomach is not a safe place for broccoli or fruit.

Yes he said, “Hot dogs is my life”, and then he took a big swig of Mountain Dew. It was like a prophetic moment of clarity much like when the Buddhist looks out at a sunset drinking tea indigenous of his land and offers future wisdom for the ages. Austin told me his life was hot dogs, looked out at a kid playing in a mud puddle and shared the same Zen moment as the Buddhist. Some things are palpable anywhere.
Not sure I can handle much more.

Finally it got dark, a few redneck fireworks went off, and then the movie started, however I had already seen enough show to not concentrate on the actual movie. I will point out that after the movie Tacoma couldn’t find his mom. He was crying to me saying he couldn’t find his momma. I took his little arm which was muddy from looking for 'craw-daddies' and walked him around trying to find her. I waddled him around for 15 minutes trying to find her when finally it dawned on me…of course she’s at the concession stand! Sure enough we get there and found her shoving her face with French fries and about to dig into a giant pretzel doused in, you guessed it, chili-cheese.
A few minutes later I saw Tacoma’s family drive off in a Dodge Omni. You gotta dream big I guess.