We're been restored to sanity and good humor by the reintroduction of air conditioning into our lives. To celebrate, we went out for big slabs of meat at our local International House of Beef, or IHOB. The meat rocked out loud, but we were horrified to see that country line dancing has finally arrived at our favorite Meatatorium. I'm not sure how they schedule this, but at seemingly random moments all the waitstaff and hosts stop doing anything of value and begin country line dancing. No food is served, no customers are seated...just line dancing.
I was sort of imagining that this must be what it's like at prayer time for Muslims. "We'll be with you in a minute. Our religion requires that we country line dance at specific times of the day."
So with nothing else to do while my beer mug sat forlornly empty, I watched the dancing. There was a great deal of hootin' and hollerin' and ye-haaawin'. I couldn't help being curious about the African American employees. I wonder how much gusto they bring to this ritualized tribute to redneck culture? Maybe they can tap into a reservoir of Stockholm Syndrome and embrace the moment...take one for the team...carpe the diem...but I know I would have to chop of my foot with a meat cleaver if I worked there.
"Sorry Boss. The doc says no country line dancing until I get used to the new prosthetic device. Darn! I'm really going to miss boot scootin' with y'all. Oh well! Life's full of disappointments."
Which is probably why I work in the farthest backest corner of a lab and not at the IHOB.
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