Thursday, December 5, 2019

Chief Notaco

A few weeks ago Sheila and I went to a pow wow in Georgia.  I was to demonstrate my limited knapping skills to the local school children for a couple of days.  We booked a room for four nights and looked forward to the time away from the ordinary.  The first couple of days went off without a hitch.  We were tired but thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  We had our tent set up and made a little Thursday and Friday before the pow wow opened to the public.  Saturday it rained on us until the late afternoon.  Even during the rain, we sold a good little bit.  When the rain stopped we did really well.
     We are notorious for being tight-asses and packed our own food.  However since we were doing well we decided to eat at the snack bar.  For a long time I have heard about flat bread, but didn't know what it was.  The snack bar was selling some, so to not look like a dummy, I asked the guy in the booth next to us what it was.    He was a Cherokee flute player and I figured he could tell us.  Turns out he did and told us that it would be much better if we made it an Indian taco.  There it was, just what I wanted.  Piled high with lettuce, tomato, cheese and meat it met our expectation.
    At dark we closed our booth and walked over to the dance ground to watch the dances.  It was a slow drizzle almost a heavy mist highlighted by the electric lamps hanging from the poles.  Almost magical to watch the dancers in all their regalia.  The men did the Snake dance and the young women did the Shawl dance.  Sheila and I relaxed in our lawn chairs under the large tent and enjoyed the festivities.  Off to the side, four or five children were having the time of their lives.  Some vendor had sold them some coyote tails and they had them attached to their backs by belts.  They were rolling around on the wet grass on their backs, kicking their legs into the air.  Next thing I know they are on all fours barking at the moon like a pack of dogs.  Oblivious to the cold and rain they were my kind of people.
     We stayed late at the dance and by the time we got back to town everything was closed except for Little Caesar's and they were closing.  We picked one up and went back to the room.  Finally around midnight we got to bed.  I woke up around three in the morning and my stomach was killing me.  Half asleep, I could not figure out  what to do.  Suddenly I knew and jumped out of bed hoping to make it to the toilet in time.  Sometimes I think your butt has eyes and as soon as it sees the commode, you are hard pressed to contain yourself until you set down.  That was the smallest commode I have ever seen.  Reminds me of a Folger's coffee can.  Feeling better, I lay back down and try to relax.  Hoping it's over, but knowing better I try to go back to sleep.  Suddenly my eyes popped open like a couple of vanilla Moon Pies and I rush to the toilet, not caring who I disturb.
     Someone had set a fire in my drawers and it was killing me.  Moaning and groaning I made it back to bed.  Sheila was trying to drown me out, but it was useless.  For the next hour I was in a mess.  When daylight came I was either on the toilet or on the way.  When the office opened I had to make a toilet paper run.  Naturally it happened on our last day and check out was fast approaching.  I was afraid I was going to have to rent for another night.  Luckily we were able to pack up and leave for the last day of the pow wow.  
     Seems everyone who comes into the booth wants to talk forever and tell me how their nephew is the greatest artist ever and why would they buy something from me that they can get from him for free.  However this voodoo woman comes into the tent and begins to tell us that she can take the pain out of burns.  She can't heal the burn but she can remove the pain.  I'm standing there with my butt as hot as a flathead Ford going up a dirt road hill at 3 p m on July 3rd with a busted radiator hose.  I am trying to figure out how I can get her to lay hands on me and take away my pain, but the mood hits me again.  I sprint off to the restroom at the bottom of the hill.  I have to go by all the large campers under the oaks.  Seems as if all of Georgia is picnicking under the oaks.  Their laughter just barely catches me as I enter the rest room,  
     By this time I am not hurting as bad as I was.  The toilets are lined up, made of cinder blocks and  the only door is a shower curtain.  Just as I am ready to leave, I hear some else come in.  He is not slow and thank God he can tell which stall is empty.  He finally sits down and the awfullest sound I have ever heard erupted.  "Oh, it hurts",  "OOOOOOOOH", "It's killing me"  This went on for a couple of minutes and I could not help myself.  "I hear you brother, had the taco, didn't you?" I asked.  He just grunted and moaned again.  When I left I walked slowly up the hill with my legs spread widely apart, not caring about the campers making fun of the smoke coming out the bottom of my pants leg.
     The voodoo woman was gone when I got back so I had to just tough it out.  We unpacked the tent and loaded everything into the truck.  After dark we stopped at the truck stop in Bainbridge and ordered a fish dinner.  While waiting for the food I began to tell Sheila about the man in the bathroom.  I'm at 235 lbs and the guy in the booth behind Sheila is facing me and is much larger than me.  When I got to "Oh it hurts" Sheila and I both erupt into laughter.  The man in the booth sets his food down and gives me a look.  I can't help it and I go on to the "OOOOOOOOOOOH" about the time he puts his cheese sandwich up to his mouth.  Again the look, but it has no effect.  He starts up with his sandwich again and "It's killing me" comes out.  He slams his sandwich down and boils over into laughter himself.  
     Unbeknownst to me and Sheila, there are several deputies in the room behind us.  Hearing the commotion, a couple of them step over to see what is going on.  I am afraid they are going to think we are smoking dope.  We toned it down after that and finally leave.  I changed my name after that to Chief Notaco (No-tac-o).  Now when Sheila asks me what I want to eat, I just say notaco.

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