Sorry for the lack of posts. I’ve been finding it much more fun to write about stupidity in my other blog than to write stupid things in this one.
I was in San Antonio for most of last week, and I was surprised by how much I liked that town. I drove up a day early and saw some of the sights. The Alamo was smaller than I remembered. The last time I saw it was 20 years ago, and, much like your elementary school cafeteria, it was bigger in memory than in reality. Not to compare the Alamo to Gordon Elementary’s lunchroom…
Because our hotel was on the River Walk and my coworkers didn’t feel like getting in the car to go further, we ate dinner down there almost every night. At one of the restaurants, the host at the door was a hispanic guy with a ridiculously fake “Texas” accent. So I interrupted him during his schtick and said, “That’s not a real accent.” He became offended (shocking) and said, “Yes ma’am. Born and bred in San Antonio Texas.” One of my coworkers is from there too, and I asked her why she didn’t talk like that guy. He decided then that he didn’t like me. I hope he didn’t tell anyone to poop in my food. Now that I think about it, it was a shitty meal… Then a couple of nights later we were at a different restaurant, and our waiter said his name was Billy Mac or Jimmy John or some such two-name nonsense. Maybe the tourists like the fake hokey shit they’ve come to expect from watching movies that never capture the essence of this state but instead rely on stupid stereotypes, but it turned me off. I think if we’d ventured beyond the River Walk I would have found more “normal” service staff. Of course, this is the place I’d really like to go.
I didn’t take off to do some exploring on my own because I had a horrible cold. I rarely get sick, and the fact that I became so while out of town really sucked. I felt good enough on the drive back to take my coworker passengers to Luling City Market for some barbecue. One of the chicks is a vegetarian, so it wasn’t her thing. But she did appreciate the ambiance. Not only do you have to walk into the smoker room to order your meat (the outer room is where you eat and order sides from little old ladies), but there’s a lot of pressure to have your order ready to tumble out of your mouth when it’s your turn. This may be a small town, but the line for the BBQ was about 30-deep on Saturday afternoon. For good reason.