Thack You: The Worst People in Town
Larry Thack wishes to acknowledge and bewail your manifold sins and wickedness

Thack You: The Worst People in Town

Larry Thack serves as an ESL tutor at Christian City

I must say it is nice to be home. After almost a month of pretending to be in Cuba, good old Fayette County is a pleasant place to be. I returned full of excitement and ready to hug my first fellow citizen of the county but instead found a series of disappointments.
The first such incident was at Church. Why is there always this guy, all by himself, who sits on the very corner of the pew in a crowded church? Beside him is thirty feet of unclaimed seating that he seems to be defending. He forces families of four, five, eight to trip over his ample feet as he gruffly tolerates passage. For many, this jerk is the first human interaction you’ll have on a Sunday morning prior to worshipping our Lord. Maybe he’s a good warm-up for the Old Testament.
Monday morning brings new hope, but as I turn onto highway 85 at the Old Courthouse I encounter a traffic jam at the Donut shop that thwarts any possible good-day-having. This is nothing new, I just always forget when rounding the corner from 54 to 85 that so many people in this town need a donut in the morning that they’ll shut down all northbound traffic. Fortunately, I suppose, the problem has gotten so bad that a policeman now directs traffic during peak feeding-hours. Our policemen do a nice job directing traffic at churches and schools, so this just makes sense.
No big deal, still in a relatively good mood and glad to be back….
I need to mail some postcards to friends I made while in Cuba so I’m off to the post office. This is generally a happy place for me as the postal workers within are often the only people in town who understand and appreciate me. They’ll have to wait while I wave this sloth across the parking lot in front of me. She doesn’t appear to have any physical ailments that slow her down but she crosses the road with a lifelessness that makes me consult my wristwatch. This isn’t so bad, now I can finish this last postcard as she sweats out last night’s bag of Classic Lay’s into her tracksuit. She has almost reached my hood ornament now, and it is clear to me that she finds some overwhelming comfort in the asphalt’s touch and can’t bear to let it go as she creeps to her oversized luxury sedan with the tissue box in the rear window. No wave, no thank-you, no acknowledgement of any kind.
So I guess it’s welcome back Thack!
I’ll see you bastards in hell.