A few weeks ago I mentioned that I had spent a few days up in the Alabama Mountains getting some culture. It was nice to get away without having to drive a thousand miles. I sorta live in the middle of here and not where I want to be and it's a hassle to get where I'd like to be. Some friends had rented a cabin on the southern side of Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga, on the outskirts of a town called Mentone. I would be lying if I said it was a one horse town; it's a little smaller than that.
We had arrived early on Friday afternoon and Friend immediately began feeling uneasy. First of all, her cell phone wasn't getting a signal and she is very attached to the old iPhone. Secondly, there was a strange looking man sitting on a chair that kept staring at her. In between spits of nasty smelling tobacco juice he kept trying to play a harmonica and rattle a tambourine hoping to entice folks inside his shop.
After a few moments of fighting with the phone she got a signal and was able to place a call. Somehow, at that time, while scary man continued to shake, rattle and spit, every vehicle without a muffler, every dump truck and every ATV within a 10 mile radius all converged on the same spot: the convenience store where Friend was trying to talk on the phone. I finally had to go inside because by that time I was laughing so hard I nearly wet my pants.
Friend joined me inside a short time later and had this to say: "I'm ready to get out of here. This place reminds me of one of those movies where you end up visiting, but never leave. Keep your eye out for people with chainsaws or a big tall man wearing a hockey mask. This place gives me the creeps!"
We spent a few moments cooling and calming ourselves down, enjoyed an old fashioned coke in a bottle and plotted our next move; we still had several hours to kill before going to the cabin. At that time, Mr. Shake, Rattle and Spit stopped his activities, looked over at us and with a toothless smile said, "You girls, ya ain't from 'round these parts, are ya...?"