You don't come to a place for a short stay and start judging everybody.
It's not cool to be a Massachusetts liberal suggesting a better way of life to West Texans after being in their homeland for two and a half days.
People wear cowboy hats here, and they mean it. It's not some ironic hipster affectation. It's the real deal.
I saw my first Trump hat during the lunch rush at the Whataburger in town today. The place was packed with high school kids on a field trip wearing their blue embroidered Future Farmers of America jackets. The man was probably 80 years old and he knew a lot of the older people in the restaurant. There were Mexican men breaking for lunch, and Mexican women eating with their children. The old man in the hat looked at me on his way to a table. I avoided his eyes feeling hot embarrassment on his behalf. He wasn't obnoxious. He's a community elder. What does Trump mean to him?
Saturday evening at the H.E.B. is a cluster fuck with everyone rushing the place in oversized trucks and SUVs in a small parking lot made for standard sized cars. It's like 50 to 100 aircraft carriers pulling into port at the same time. I managed to maneuver my own battleship into a space out on one of the edges, miraculously without hitting anything.
On my way out of the store, I heard a ruckus and saw several cars and trucks stopped at the entry/exit to the lot. A helmetless Harley Davidson rider had been knocked down, or dumped his bike trying to dodge an interloping pickup. I walked up close to make sure the man wasn't pinned under the bike. Thankfully, he was on his feet and apparently unhurt.
Originally, I'd thought I'd go out for a beer or two. After all, it's my first Saturday night in a new town, but after the H.E.B., a quiet night in the hotel room sounded just right.
It's not cool to be a Massachusetts liberal suggesting a better way of life to West Texans after being in their homeland for two and a half days.
People wear cowboy hats here, and they mean it. It's not some ironic hipster affectation. It's the real deal.
I saw my first Trump hat during the lunch rush at the Whataburger in town today. The place was packed with high school kids on a field trip wearing their blue embroidered Future Farmers of America jackets. The man was probably 80 years old and he knew a lot of the older people in the restaurant. There were Mexican men breaking for lunch, and Mexican women eating with their children. The old man in the hat looked at me on his way to a table. I avoided his eyes feeling hot embarrassment on his behalf. He wasn't obnoxious. He's a community elder. What does Trump mean to him?
Saturday evening at the H.E.B. is a cluster fuck with everyone rushing the place in oversized trucks and SUVs in a small parking lot made for standard sized cars. It's like 50 to 100 aircraft carriers pulling into port at the same time. I managed to maneuver my own battleship into a space out on one of the edges, miraculously without hitting anything.
On my way out of the store, I heard a ruckus and saw several cars and trucks stopped at the entry/exit to the lot. A helmetless Harley Davidson rider had been knocked down, or dumped his bike trying to dodge an interloping pickup. I walked up close to make sure the man wasn't pinned under the bike. Thankfully, he was on his feet and apparently unhurt.
Originally, I'd thought I'd go out for a beer or two. After all, it's my first Saturday night in a new town, but after the H.E.B., a quiet night in the hotel room sounded just right.
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