Hollis, I am so sorry…. I didn’t buy a copy of your book “Trailer Trashed” this past Tuesday at your big premiere at Paris on Ponce. When I texted you earlier in the day to ask if you needed help at the event I never believed that you’d actually need it, but I was only too glad to help out. Now you need to know that by the time I got there, Shane and Grant and Lary and your other friends had already dressed the outside of the building and organized the inside… I mean, it seemed like everything was practically done already. But, at some point I realized that I wasn’t dressed thematically enough for the occasion… I mean!! I was wearing a PiratePalooza™ T-shirt and jeans; arguably an appropriate trailer park outfit, but not as instantly recognizable as the mechanic shirts and wifebeaters walking around the place.
But, when that first girl walked up… the sexy, leggy asian-american girl, something stirred deep within my… soul, and an exaggerated southside Atlanta accent slid right out. I don’t know if I actually told her that she was hot (she was), but there were plenty of women I said that to all night. Oh, it came sweet as honey right out of my mouth when I talked to your lady fans. In fact, at some point during the night I could hardly even understand myself. The interplay between consonants and vowels mixed in a heady rush, twisting and tumbling out of my mouth.
I don’t think it took me more than five minutes to transform Grant’s punch, a mix of hooch and cheap grocery store fruit juice in jugs…. you know, that stuff you wanted me to call “Pink Flamingo Punch”, into a far more sublime drink I simply referred to as “BIRD” (in all capitals, as that’s how I said it to your fans…. loud, crisp, and hard). And I think they liked it. Pretty soon, as the beer went away, my line for BIRD kept going and going and going (after an emergency refill from Grant and then Lary).
Whether they knew it or not, I gauged the people ordering BIRD by their reaction to my accent. Some, like the stiff grey-haired dickhead who acted like he was too good to be there, received gentle hick-tinged banter and a wave of mental piss. Others, like that leggy asian american, got the special “deep pour”. When someone acted hesitant about the drink, I’d tell them it was smooth. When others would give indications that they might come around every two minutes, I told them it was really strong. That tub lasted SO LONG I started to consider it some special miracle of debauchery punch; your pal Grant’s version of fish & loaves of bread.
At one point, as you took the stage, Grant appeared most nervous and turned to order a BIRD, then another, then another…. and still the stuff lasted.
I still had time to flirt like a redneck with a bunch of your Buckhead Betties…. I don’t know if they appreciated the “YUUUUR HAHHHT” come-on I was using, but I racked up $86 bucks in my tip jar… and then after emptying it again I pulled in another 20 or more.
At the end of the night your friend pouring the beer suggested that we donate the money to the guys for their effort, as we’d not volunteered to make money. So we held out $24 each, so that we could buy a book. By that time I really needed to leave, so I ran in to find you surrounded by an ENG crew, I hugged your neck and darted away.
If you were befuddled as to why I said “Hey Hollis, I gots to GO!!!” to you in a redneck twang, it’s because I was still in my southside mode.
And it was fun.
And there were TV cameras around.
What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t buy a book.
But I did discover that I have the talent to be a very rich bartender.