Cultural Conversations in Georgia : Buckshot Jones, Goldman Sachs and Turbo Tax

"Don't you worry about it, boy; you my hoss, even if you don't ever win a race." -Duane Allman

I love this quote. It sounds like something from the benches at Cass Grocery. Duane would have fit right in up there, if you ask me. Disregard the long hair and drug abuse, this guy was as Southern as a fried chicken milkshake with a side of Moon Pie fries. Fellow Southerners ought to "Google" his name and read some of his quotes, there are some real classics there. I wish that somebody famous would suddenly appear up there one day and talk to those guys. I swear, if Dale Earnhardt, Waylon Jennings or George Jones made a cameo in Cassville, every single person on that bench would die a happy man.

It's really funny to compare the conversations of people from different cultures. Since I'm a snooty Cobb County resident now, I've had the dubious honor of frequenting enough Starbucks locations and rubbing elbows with the bluest of blue bloods to get a fair grasp on the important topics facing metro Atlantans today. Take yesterday for example. I was in the Marietta-Dallas Highway Starbucks, where I overheard the conversation of three regular customers sitting near the register. These guys are in this coffee shop every day, believe I know. They sit in the same spot, talking louder than Buckshot Jones's quarter panel smacking against the wall at Bristol after lap 33.

**Sidenote: The Buckshot Jones 32 Rule was invented in Cassville by myself and three other men. Buckshot was a NASCAR driver in the 90's. He hailed from Georgia, went to UGA and was massively popular amongst the citizenry of Cassville. Plus, his name was Buckshot. Anyone named after ammunition, a football coach, a country musician or farm equipment would attain God-like status at Cass Grocery. Poor Buckshot could NEVER finish a race. It always seemed that after Lap 32, Buckshot would just flush all of his racing knowledge, go "deer in the headlights" on us and total his car in a sharp turn. We would watch the races and once lap 32 ended, there would be a collective "oh s***, I hope Dale ain't near Buckshot" and we'd cringe, waiting for him to self destruct.

Anyhow, these men were discussing the pros and cons of Microsoft Word 7 and the efficiency of Turbo Tax:

"I tell ya, Bill, the new drop down menu on the Start icon is much easier to deal with. It combines...."

(interrupting him, 7 decibels louder): "I like the old menu better. I like having the "Format" menu separate."

(another interrruption, 12 decibels louder): "You guys don't know what you are talking about, when you point and click on the Page Tab....."

At this point, I wanted to pour my coffee in my ears. They rambled on and on, but luckily I had my head phones and Ipod, so I turned on Merle Haggard's "I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink" to drown out the drivel of some of the most bored individuals in the known universe. Give me a discussion about the latest copper wire theft on Peeples Valley Road. Give me a riveting diatribe about the virtues of using lag screws or laying sprinkler pipe in the mud up in Pine Log. Bring on the arguments about the best food plots for deer in north Bartow, how much PVC glue costs or the size of your fan belt. Microsoft Word? Turbo Tax? Enter Cassville....

"Microsoft? Is that the new tar (tire) that Michelin just put out? Them babies are expeeeensive....whooowee!"

"Turbo Tax. Heh. The IRS can kiss my ass. I'll send them some sawdust this year, they done stole enough from me. Turbo. They'll get my money when I'm gotdam good n ready!"

"They'll put a lien on you, Larry!"

"Lien? What they gonna lien? I own my tools and that Polaris right yonder (points to the back of the truck). They can't have it!" (nods head defiantly, takes a drag from a Marlboro Red)

Same topic. 30 miles apart. Vastly different result.

Let's meander further into the city. I was at Twist (restaurant at Phipps Plaza) eating lunch after Court and had the pleasure of sitting next to two men taking their lunch break at the same time. They were obviously in the insurance/sales business. You know how you can tell? They use large words for no apparent reason in their everyday conversations and name drop, all mixed with their former collegiate vocabulary. These are words they only learned a year ago during their training seminars.

"Dude, Jeff called me yesterday. He is developing a strategic partnership with this other dude in Miami. I think if we continually maximize our efforts and coordinate the synergistic aspects of this endeavor, we'll be so money.

"Word. This guy I know at Goldman-Sachs, he is the Director of Advanced Financial Directives, he can help us coagulate our knowledge with brand recognition. We're talking some serious fiscal implications in a positive direction. I'm so jacked right now. Hang on, gotta call coming in." (Bluetooth firmly entrenched in the ear)

After laughing/vomiting in my mouth a little, I remembered when they guys at the store tried to sound technical and do the name dropping.

"Hell, we was out there in Rome and Randy came out there...you know Randy, he's the head of the county department upair (up there) and he tol' us to get all the polybutylene off that property right then. I was working on the driveshaft and catalytic converter of that truck we got, so I didn't have to do it. Don't nobody mess with Randy. He makes biiiiig money too. Got him a twin engine Ranger boat up at Lake Weiss."

45 miles apart. Technical talk and name dropping. Goldman-Sachs and.....Randy. So different, yet so similar.

There's nothing wrong with Atlanta people. It's just a different culture. Quite frankly, some of the nicest and most interesting people I've ever met are city/suburban dwellers. I've never hidden my love for New York City and its citizens. Conversely, some of the most smug, back stabbing, self absorbed jerks I've ever known live in Bartow County, Georgia. They are another source of comedy altogether. If the entire world was a 10 mile radius from town square, they would be kings. Unfortunately for them, there are the rest of us.

So, if you are ever in Cassville and you are not privy to the intricacies of using toggle bolts vs. metric bolts or spark plug wire sizes, listen to the conversation closely. Absorb the vocabulary. Remember the big names. Introduce yourself as "Waylon Earnhardt Smith" and whatever you say after that will be OK by them. Just don't get carried away, or you'll be another Buckshot 32 victim.