Throwback to the country

Trey at Only Connect has written a couple of good pieces recently about social interaction, and he reminded me of an observation I made several years ago that one of my brother’s college roommates worked into one of his earlier stand-up comedy routines.

To find out where you stand with the average Southern man, take note of how he greets you when he has his hands full.

Like when he’s walking from the barn to the hog pen, gripping a bucket of feed in each hand. As you drive by his farm and honk, he looks up, makes eye contact and acknowledges you.

How he chooses to do so sends a message. If he quickly tucks his chin toward his neck in a nodding gesture, the meaning is tough to decipher. He (1) didn’t recognize you in your truck; (2) doesn’t recall ever meeting you; (3) hasn’t quite figured you out yet; (4) has had one damn problem after another in the farrowing house and is in no mood for you and your horn; or (5) thinks you’re a sumbitch.

But if you get the other — a quick throwback of the head toward the back of his neck — you’ve just gotten one of the clearest signs of friendship and affirmation you can get. He not only knows who you are but also thinks you’re just plain all-right. And his day ain’t going too shabby, either.

Of course, a Southern man doesn’t have to have his hands occupied to send one of these signals.

I first picked up on these cues when I worked one summer in a convenience store in the town next to mine.

Late at night, regular customers would stop by on their break from a local hosiery mill or on their way home from other assembly-line jobs in the county. Some of these characters looked rough as cobs and, initially, scared me in a store I manned by myself.

Every one of them, without exception, spent the first couple of weeks replying to my “hey, how’s it goin’?” greeting they got when they entered the store with a quick nod toward the chin. The message: I don’t know you and am not quite ready to carry on conversation with a fella I don’t know whether I can trust.

But quickly recognizing regulars, I’d keep up the banter, albeit one-sided, to try to find allies as soon as possible in a town with little police protection and two four-lane state highways that would provide anyone with a quick getaway.

It worked. I was soon hearing about how gawl-dang hot it was in the mill that night or how wild the kids are back at the house because they can’t wait for tomorrow’s trip to Gulf Shores.

And I was always getting the throwback toward the back of the neck when they walked through the doors.

The only exception would be when a guy was having a particularly rough night at work and at home. Or one time when the friendliest guy of the bunch, a family man in his late 30s, rushed in, beelined to the condoms and hurried to the counter with a box, red-faced but appearing relieved to see I already had a brown bag ready to hide his purchase.

I don’t miss my minimum-wage stint behind the counter at Discount Food Mart. I do, however, miss those throwbacks. I haven’t gotten a single one in Atlanta.

Comments

[Steve]

Hey, thanks for the link from your site, by the way. I'll have to check out your entries. Drop by anytime.

[Deliverance]

Absolutely right on. You brought back many memories of the throwback for me.

[Steve]

I'm beginning to think it's only a hillbilly thing or an Alabama thing rather than a practice throughout Southern culture.

[Ben]

I'll keep that in mind while I'm in Atlanta and Athens for the next 12 days or so.

[Trey]

Interesting. I don't really remember ever seeing a throw-back. I mean, I can picture it, but don't think I ever got one. Maybe your lesson in what it means will be useful one day.

Thanks for the mention.