I lived in the USA for 8 years. Specifically, I lived in Oklahoma and Texas AKA the Buckle of the Bible Belt.
But I travelled extensively throughout the United States so I eventually learned that:
A) Not everyone in the USA carried a gun in a pickup truck which sported a “Charlton Heston is my President” bumper sticker.
B) Not everyone in the entire USA mismatched their vowels. For instance, a pen is a “pin” and you count to “tin”.
C) Not everyone in the entire USA had a Bush-Cheney sign on their front lawn.
D) Not everyone in the entire USA ate buns (also called biscuits) covered with a thick, gluey white sauce called “gravy” for breakfast. With a side of steak. A. Side. Of. Steak.
I am still convinced that every small town in America has a Dairy Queen and a Pizza Hut. If you are south of Kansas, it will also have a Sonic.
But pretty much everything else you’ve heard is true.
However, my experiences with the Great State of Arkansas were unmatched. I have seen many a pick up truck, many a wife-beater shirt, many a shack on the side of the highway with a sign advertising “Chewin’ Tobacco” and many a church with bad signs (One of the worst? “God only reads knee-mail.” Well, there was also the one that read “Hairy Potter is going to hell.”).
One day, while we were living in Tulsa, we decided to drive over the border into Arkansas for no other reason than to go for a drive and maybe go golfing. It was a sunny day, we weren’t good golfers (still aren’t) but just wanted to hang out.
We went to Borders and grabbed an Arkansas guide book (stop laughing!) which highly recommended a certain golf course. I can’t remember the name of it now but I believe it was something imposing like “Arkansas State Golf Course”.
We drove and we drove and we drove. We looked and looked. Couldn’t find it. We were on a back country road, surrounded by barbed wire fences, lanky dogs, trailer parks and scrubby bushes but no golf course. Finally, after we had driven past the Dairy Queen no less than four times, I realised that the pro shop for the golf course was actually THE DAIRY QUEEN.
So we went in, paid for 9 holes and got a dilly bar. All for about $4.25 a piece. We then proceeded to golf in a cow pasture right next to a prison.
Afterwards, we headed into Fort Smith which, we had been assured, was a “mighty fine place for touristin’”. So we “touristed” around the old town, browsing in antique stores. Around these parts, they called it “junkin’” and for good reason – most of it was junk from your grandmothers basement. If your grandmothers basement had never been cleaned in your entire life or your mother’s. We wandered through dusty stacks of Roy Orbison albums, harvest gold refrigerators and bad pottery.
In one shop, I was enchanted by tiny ceramic tea cups. They were thimble sized but nicely painted with a delicate hand. When I turned them over, they read “Made in Occupied Japan”. I thought they were lovely.
The lady at the counter noticed me looking at them and a conversation ensued.
Lady (bellowing from the counter): Lookin at those tee cups!
Me: Yes, they’re lovely!
Lady: Those cups’re real rare.
Me: Oh, really?
Lady: Yep. They’re made in a place called Oak-u-pied, Japan. I’ve tried for years to find Oak-u-pied on a map but ain’t nowhere to be found. No one’s even heard of it. So I figure it’s gone. Just gone. Not often you get a tea cup from a place that’s gone now.
Me: Oak-u-pied?
Lady: Yep, I ain’t never been there. But I bet it’s real nice. Real nice place, that Oak-u-pied.
Afterwards, we left Arkansas.
And moved to Texas.
DISCLAIMER: I have friends in Arkansas. I know it’s full of lovely, intelligent people.
