You know you are in rural Texas when you wake up to what you think is an aggressive garbage truck, only to find there is an oil jack about ten yards away from your window. Why didn’t I see this as I drove in and parked the night before? It was very dark and very late, but I can’t figure out how I missed it. Sometimes we are in such a hurry, we don’t slow down to notice the most obvious things.
The high-decibel grinding had me fully awake, so I drove downtown (which consists of only one street) for a bite of breakfast. As I entered the tiny cafe, the diners turned immediately. Maybe their necks had a reflexive response to the ding of the bell above the door. Maybe they could smell a stranger. All of the diners were men of at least 70 years of age and were wearing plaid shirts. One waved to me, “C’mon in, honey. Sit anywhere you like.” So I did.
Within minutes, a waitress in a black AC/DC t-shirt and a small faded apron had taken my order and added, “What else you need, baby girl?” And with that, I knew it was going to be a good morning for buttery biscuits and listening.
The men continued their cross-cafe conversation as if I weren’t there. A table of two hollered across to another table of two who hollered across to another table of two. They didn’t seem to mind if I eavesdropped.
They discussed Elvis’s gold-plated safety belts, the rattlesnake round-up in Sweetwater, “that ol’ boy” who ran for constable, something that tasted much better when it was pickled in moonshine (I couldn’t make out what), and goodness knows what else for almost two hours. I smiled and listened the whole time. Then these men who live in a town with one stoplight turned to speed limits. I grabbed a pen and started writing on my napkin.
Man #1: “West of Pecos it’s 80, but it don’t make no difference.”
Man #3: “Boy, I’ll tell you what … People gonna drive how they want to.”
Man #2: “Just 80 miles per hour? Hell, you can do that ‘tween here and Weatherford.”
Man #3: (whistles) “hmm, hmm, hmm …”
Man #2: “People on the freeway are flyin’ now compared to what they used to. I was headed for New Braunfels goin’ 75, and people was passin’ me like I was asleep. They don’t pay attention to no speed limit. Whatever their car’ll do, that’s what they do.”
Man #4: “They shore do it, too. The only time they should be goin’ 90 miles per hour is up in the air or out on the water in a big boat.”
Man #2: “Them 18-wheelers run fast as a car!”
Man #3: (whistles) “hmm, hmm, hmm …”
Man #4: “People determined to fill the hospitals. They got to learn to put on the brakes! Them new Volkswagens got 140 on the dial.”
Man #3: (whistles) “Boy, I’ll tell you what …”
Man #2: “Y’all know they been pressurin’ the state to raise the speed limit ‘tween Austin and San ‘tonio? They gonna make an Audubon outta I-35 ‘fore you know it. You can be drivin’ anywhere, fast as you can go, and here come an 18-wheeler like it isn’t even a strain.”
One man stood up then, and tossed a couple bucks on the table. His chair scraped loudly on the floor, and he turned for the door, saying, “Be good now. I got fish to fry. See y’all tomorrow.” The other men muttered their goodbyes and continued. I finished my coffee and stood up too. One gentleman said to me: “Honey, where you goin’? Sorry you had to put up with this mess!”
Me: “No, I liked it. See I’m from Fort Worth, and people eat breakfast a lot faster around there. I like lingering and talking the way y’all do. I kind of like slowing down.”
Man #1: “Fort Worth? Why, that ain’t but three hours from here! Can’t be that different! They don’t sit around in Fort Worth no more?”
Me: “No, sir. Not like this. People are busy.”
Man #2: “That’s a shame. We solve about 99% of the world’s problems in the first 15 minutes every mornin’ and then no tellin’ how much havoc we wreak for the rest of breakfast.”
Me: “I bet you do! And all so you can come back the next morning and solve new problems, huh?”
Man #2: “That’s right!”
Man #3: (laughing) “Boy, I’ll tell you what!”
Man #2: “Shoot! Next time, you need to turn that chair around and join us, girl. We’re a bunch of clean fellas. You’ll be safe, if you can stand our complainin’.”
I laughed and told him to watch out, that I might just do that.
Two hours for breakfast conversation every morning. Those men notice every nitty-gritty detail of life and discuss it. And there I was, overlooking an enormous pump jack. Time slows down in a small town, I guess. They know how to put on the brakes. As I walked down the sidewalk to my car, shaking my head, I looked up at the huge town clock on the corner. It read 3:30. I panicked and whipped my wide eyes to my wristwatch. Whew. It was just 9:30.
The discrepancy didn’t surprise me at all.