When you grow up in the deep south, there are some fundamental things that you get accustomed to seeing. It’s no big deal to see a jacked-up, 4X4 truck covered in dried mud cruising through town. It really doesn’t raise too many eyebrows when you see someone wearing a gun openly on their hip. When hunting season hits, you can bet your socks that there are going to be guys wearing deer hunting t-shirts with truck-beds full of dead deer.
When you grow up in the south, you get used to seeing stuff like that. Nearly everyone I know wears deer hunting t-shirts at least once a week. I loved living in Tennessee, and I wish I never had to move out here to crazy land. When you get a great job offer and have a family that’s counting on you, then sometimes you have to just pack up your life and take it out to California to teach those city boys how you properly work an oil field.
It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t just because I’m a redneck that people looked at me funny, either. There are so many different kinds of people out here who are trying to make it into showbiz that you’re bound to see rednecks, punk rockers, and Canadians all standing in the same line for a Jamba Juice. No, you can be from the country here…you just can’t be an animal-killer who wears deer hunting t-shirts.
Everything is so fake out here. I haven’t been hunting in over three years, just because it’s not something you do out here. I can’t wear my deer hunting t-shirts in public anymore since some chick in a PeTA shirt threw a can of paint on me. That girl’s momma should have jerked her up by the short hairs for being so rude, but I think her momma was protesting right beside her.
All I want to do is get through this work contract and move back home with enough cash in my pocket to buy me and the family a house. I’m not made to be out here. I miss the woods and the quiet. I miss wearing my deer hunting t-shirts where I please without anyone yelling at me. I miss foggy mornings and beers with my buddies. I miss my home.