As you all know, I’m nothing if not open-minded. That’s why it just kills me to report that the very first person we saw upon entering Arkansas was a stereotype.
It happened like this: My lovely and vivacious wife, having driven most of the afternoon at a snail’s pace over ice, needed to stop for refreshments. We spotted what appeared to be a normal gas station, pulled into the parking lot, and entered the store in search of Coke.
Inside the store, a man stood leaning against the counter with his back to us, speaking with the cashier. A bell above the entrance chimed as we entered the building, and the man slowly turned around to face us. And when he did, he looked exactly like this:
I was seriously considering leaving my wife in the dust just to escape from this guy.