Redneckville

One morning last week I was driving to work. As I left our community I pulled up behind a rather large Alberta Truck. What is an Alberta Truck? Well, for those of you who don't live here, an Alberta truck is a truck just like any other, except it has been fed steroids and bathed in mud. I am afraid to admit it, but most men in Alberta with trucks like them extra large and extra dirty. Extra dirty to compensate for the conservative spouses ('I wish my wife was this dirty') and HUGE trucks to compensate for small....
So the other day I pulled up behind the truck. Dazed and confused from a night of battling infant twin feedings I noticed this truck slowly. It emerged into my range of focus one eclectic piece at a time. The first thing I noticed about it was the decal on its perfectly spotless tailgate. (The spotless tailgate should have been my first clue that this was no ordinary Alberta Truck). The decal was of a deer leaping in joyous wonder... surrounded by a scrolling script that had something to do with a buck shooting championship. The second thing I noticed was a brass pair of bull testicles hanging below the trailer hitch, rocking slowly back and forth in a perfectly balanced equilibrium.After that my attention was drawn to the trailer hitch itself with its 12 inch tall plastic deer mounted where the ball was supposed to be. The deer faced backwards and as the brake was applied it kicked and flailed its wee little deer legs while a red target painted on its innocent chest lit up. Above the spasming and flailing statue from Rudolph's worst nightmare was a tasteful license plate frame made to look just like barbed wire. Then slowly into my focus emerged the personalized Alberta license plate which read "REDNEKGRL".

The very next day I took my three year old son, for the very first time to Bass Pro... Do you know what Bass Pro is? It began as a small gun and tackle shop in the back corner of a Springfield, Missouri liquor store in 1971. Today it is the largest hunting/fishing/outdoor chain in the world. Whether you like the outdoors or not you owe it to yourself to see a Bass Pro store. There is nothing quite like it. Just two weeks ago one opened up north of the city. In 5 days I went twice just to take it all in. Imagine an area larger than a football field and with a ceiling at least 100 feet high. Fill that building with ever conceivable stuffed and mounted animal from your local wildlife populace, add a 30 foot waterfall, a 24,000 gallon aquarium, a stream that runs through all levels and all over the building, paint the walls to look like a nature scene and pipe in high quality animal and wildlife sounds, add a few hundred hoof and paw prints all over the store, then fill it with almost an endless supply of hunting, fishing and outdoor gear and add one rather interior large boat store. That is a Bass Pro shop.

So one opened up here just before Easter and as I had to pick someone up at the airport, only ten minutes from it, I packed up my three year old son, grabbed some cheeseburgers and went to see it for myself. We pulled into the parking lot and immediately I noticed something odd. I was the only person not driving an Alberta Truck. My mini-van with three car seats broadcasted my status to the world. I was a man with serious reproductive capabilities. Even on a Thursday night finding a parking spot was difficult but I managed. Then I hauled my son up to the front seat so we could eat our cheeseburgers in style, in the parking lot of Canada's Redneck Mecca.

Like a champion hunter I did not have to wait for long for my "prey" to arrive. Soon enough a traditional Alberta Truck pulled into an empty parking stall a few feet away from where I sat. Red mud caked the jacked up wheels and blue buffed paint finish. Its oversized body literally screamed Redneck. After a few moments its rumbling and grumbling stopped and like a diseased diesel powered dinosaur it disgorged its occupant. Emerging from the cab of this monster truck a lumpish man appeared. He was wearing a camouflage ball cap sitting askew on top of his matted and greasy hair. Dirty jeans that no doubt spent their nights under the bed upon which their owner slumbered adorned his lower body. Covering the beer belly most likely bloated from a recent feeding frenzy of KFC was a half tucked blue, button up shirt. Ironically, napkins must have been scarce for it was apparent even from twenty feet away that the shirt, due to an immersion in chicken grease, was in and of itself finger licking good.

The man stretched, scratched and then proceeded to hobble up to the hood of his truck. At this point my interest was piqued and I sat up tall in my seat and debated with myself about whether or not my son was old enough to understand the strange male behaviour that was about to take place in front of me. Even with his back towards me and from twenty feet away I would tell by body language alone what was about to transpire... all I had to do was wait for it.... and after a brief pause my suspicions were confirmed as the man baptised the cement in front of his monster truck in urine. His territory marked he promptly tucked in his shirt, zipped up his fly, adjusted his package and proceeded to go into Bass Pro, the Redneck Mecca, to explore.

Sometimes as a man I find it difficult to fit in. I don't exactly know where I belong. I'm not a sports freak, or a car buff, I have never killed an animal and fishing... well fishing is another story, but its not something I do often. I like the outdoors, but find that most of my trips are alone or with small groups. I read a lot, can hold intellectual and intelligent conversations on many levels. I have spent the majority of my life in some form of schooling, can gut and fix almost any computer problem, and love playing with my kids. I guess that makes me a nerd. There I admit it, I was an awkward child with health issues, first to be picked on and last to be picked for floor hockey. I grew up, got smart, and fell in love with the cute blond all the popular kids wanted to date. After 11 years of practice we managed to make a few kids that will grow up to be the popular kids we never were. Maybe I don't always fit in, but I'm glad I'm not a redneck!

PS- A few days after this experience I ended up back at Bass Pro, on a Saturday with about 2,000 other curious outdoor enthusiasts. There parked in the lot was a massive, super duper, super clean jacked up truck with huge wheels and suspension that put the roof of the cab at least 12 feet in the air. Airbrushed onto the doors were the initials J.B., and as I went around the back I found out that it was Jenn's Beast. I'm glad my wife isn't a Redneck either!