Serialization of the WACKY MISADVENTURES of WARBLE McGORKLE - CHAPTER 9 (of 70)
Warble Makes a Scene at the Diner Trying to Prove He’s a Dyed-in-the-Cotton Southerner
CHAPTER 9
Warble Makes a Scene at the Diner Trying to Prove He’s a Dyed-in-the-Cotton Southerner
After the McGorkles have driven a few miles, Warble turns to Mary and asks, “Jeet jet?”
“What?” Mary asks, frowning her incomprehension.
“Jeet jet?!”
“What in the world are you trying to say, Warble? Speak English!”
“Miss Mary, you've got to get with the lingo--the dialect. Dialectics are the key to our success. Jeet jet--did you eat yet?”
“Did I eat yet? Warble, if that's what you wanted to know, why didn't you ask that in the first place? And you know as well as I do whether I've eaten yet--you've been with me all day.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, in that case I guess I do know the answer. You have not-except for a few cherries. And that brings up a supplemental question: hongry?”
“Am I hungry, you'd like to know,” Mary deduces.
“Yes, that's what I said, Miss Mary--'rya hongry?”
“I could stand to have a bite or two,” Mary responds.
“Now you're getting with the program, Mary. If we play our cards right, we are gar-on-teed to have success.”
Mary sighs. “You mean 'guaranteed,' I take it, Warble. Why, pray tell, do you keep saying it that way?”
“Miss Mary, Miss Mary, Miss Mary,” Warble chides in his best southern drawl. “What am I to do with the likes of you? Why did I pronounce it thata-way, you ask? I told you: they all say 'gar-on-teed' away down yonder in the land of cotton. It's like 'sure' or 'you betcha'. The soul bands in Looz-eanna sing Gar-on-teed by Golly Wow.”
“They do, huh?” Mary asks, not having the foggiest notion what Warble is talking about.
“You betcha. I mean, gar-on-teed they do, Miss Mary--every chance they get. They wouldn't have it any other way.”
Mary spots a Citizen Page (Warble's favorite fast-food chain) in Minocqua, and they pull in for cheeseburgers and fries.
Following their repast, the McGorkles drive through the night. Through Illinois and Missouri, Warble lectures Mary on southern ways. He tells her everything he has learned over the years about the South, knowledge he has gleaned from the movie Gone With the Wind, the tv show Dukes of Hazzard, the song Southern Nights, and a variety of novels and such.
Mary sleeps through the monologue, but Warble doesn't notice, partly because she is wearing sunglasses and nods her head every once in awhile (which Warble interprets as signals of agreement or comprehension), and partly because he just assumes that Mary would not be able to sleep while listening to such scintillating conversation. Another reason is that Mary snores very softly.
When the dawn ascends, Mary awakes, and is surprised to see that she and Warble are in Arkansas. She thought that Warble was going to stop at a motel during the night, but he obviously had not.
Now that Warble notices Mary is awake, he asks her if she could 'bear to face a plate of vittles,' and if she wouldn't mind driving after they eat so he can 'catch 40 winks.' She could, and she won't mind.
Mary soon spots a roadside diner which, based on the number of cars surrounding it, seems to be quite popular. She is hungry, and succeeds in talking Warble into stopping there rather than holding out for a Citizen Page.
“Lou & Lulu's,” Warble reads. “Sounds interesting enough, I guess. Remember, Mary, we are southern through and through. If you don't know what something on the menu is, don't ask about it. We don't want to leave behind the slightest clue for our pursuers.”
Warble pulls a piece of grass from alongside the USA Today rack outside the eatery and sticks it in his mouth, rolling it back and forth between his teeth, somewhat reminiscent of a log in an Oregon lumberjack log-rolling contest. He makes sure to hold the door open for Mary and, with a sweeping bow, escorts her inside the roadhouse.
A plastic sign that is made to look as if it's made of wood reads 'Please Wait to be Seated.' Warble makes his best effort to look Southern. He stuffs his thumbs in his pockets and stands nonchalantly, with his legs bowed.
By and by a pert young lady appears to seat the McGorkles. “Table for two?” she asks.
“Yes, ma'am,” Warble drawls. The waitress, who looks like a 7/8th size version of Dolly Parton--without the top-heaviness--hands menus to Warble and Mary on seating them, and informs them that she will be back soon to take their orders.
After a cursory glance at the menu, Warble whispers, “Mary, would you look at the items on this menu--everything is 'chicken-fried.' Chicken-fried this and chicken-fried that.”
“What are you talking about, Warble? The only chicken-fried thing I see on the menu is chicken-fried steak.”
“Look a little closer, then. There's not only chicken-fried steak, but also chicken-fried buffalo wings, chicken-fried fries, chicken-fried ice cream, chicken-fried chicken tenders, and chicken-fried RC Cola.
“Don't look now, but I think this may be a trap. They're testing us to see whether we are the gen-yoo-wine article. The traditional Southern dishes are not even on the menu, but I'll order them all anyway. You know they've got them; they just want to see if we know they've got them.”
Before long the waitress returns. “Are you ready to order?”
“Yes, miss, I believe we are.”
“All right then; shall I start with you, sir?”
“You betcha,” Warble replies, eager to display that he knows a thing or two about the culinary delights of the South.
“Miss, I'll have a heaping plate of those good ol' grits y'all got back there yonder, some hush puppies, a slice of pecan pie, a few pralines, some jambalaya, a plate of shrimp gumbo, and a large iced tea. Oh, and a glass of Southern Comfort.”
“Well, sir, I reckon we could accommodate you on most of your wishes, but we don't serve alcohol here.”
“What? Don't serve alcohol? What is this, are you trying to tell me this is a dry county? No Southern gentleman would even think of sinking his teeth into a generous helping of good ol' grits and suchlike without a drop or two of corn squeezin's or moonshine or some such to keep it all company.”
“Well, I wouldn't know about that, sir, but as I said, we don't serve alcohol here--we haven't got a liquor license.”
“Liquor license? Liquor license schmicker license. Are y'all afeard of the revenuers or somethin'? I won't say nothin.' I won't let out a peep. Just give me a taste of that sweet heat.”
The waitress just stares at Warble, perplexed.
In his pseudo righteous indignation Warble stands up, simultaneously raises his right forefinger and his voice and proclaims, “This is an outrage! A true son of the South can’t get a smidgen of Southern Comfort to wet his whistle in this establishment!
“As a Southern gentleman who can trace his lineage back to Jefferson Davis and Glen Campbell, I can not, and will not, suffer this indignity. We're leaving! Come on, Miss Mary,” Warble concludes, standing up and reaching for his wife's hand.
Mary, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, gets up from her seat and heads toward the door with her husband. Just before closing the door behind himself, Warble whirls around and offers a parting shot across the bow to the dumbfounded diners: “The South will rise again!”
Mary walks wordlessly toward the car. She knows it is futile to argue, senseless to question.
“That should throw them off our trail for awhile, Mary. Doubtless they are applauding me now in that eatery. I have passed the test with flying colors.
When they write my biography, that episode is bound to be remembered as 'The Chicken-Fried Diner Incident.' Now we will enter into southern society with the greatest of ease.”
“If you say so, Warble. I'm still hungry, though.”
“We're a little behind schedule now, Miss Mary. How about if we just pop in to the Piggly Wiggly and pick up a few things to snack on?”
“Whatever, Warble,” Mary replies, feeling more than a little cranky.
After getting a pecan pie and some iced tea from the Piggly Wiggly (even though Warble hates both pecan pie and tea at any temperature, he wants to prove to any spies who may yet be monitoring their every move just how deep-down Southern he truly is), Warble realizes they may have a problem.
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is Warble McGorkle’s Delusional Visions of Paradise.
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