The hillbillies are messing with you, or is it you?

 Several people who moved here from other places come to me and say, in almost a whisper, "There are hillbillies threatening me."

Okay, I'm going to clear this up for all of you so I can just refer you to this post when you tell me that. Firstly, hillbillies is derogatory, depending on who and how you're calling that. We (mostly) prefer to be called rednecks. Rednecks have honorary engineering degrees, and their ingenuity is remarkable. The people here are completely and lovingly open to "transplants" and new people moving here, but you need to understand the rules.

  Don't move somewhere and without knowing anything about that place, clear cut 100 acres. Just buy existing pastureland. They don't come to your neighborhood and erect penis statues all over the place. Make better choices; learn before you destroy. Rednecks love this land, these trees, these animals and these birds, this glistening water. The divide between rednecks and hippies is meaningless, because they agree on almost everything, they just won't sit down and understand one another.

  When you "take over" land, then insist that nobody plays in your creeks like generations of their family have been doing, long before you ever appeared with your ideas of Home Owner Associations and "the way things SHOULD BE," you just need to grow, learn, and if you want this place to be exactly like where you came from, just move back there for goodness sake. Sign your place over to the Cherokee, and GET OUT. Or learn. You came to this place to learn and grow; you came into life for the same.

  You don't get to move anywhere in the world and insist that everyone plays by YOUR rules. That's just ignorant. 

  You fix all of your problems with money, rather than ingenuity. Yeah, people laugh about that. Sorry to be the messenger. It's simply not sustainable.

  Putting 100,000 cameras around your property to keep you "safe," wooooo weeeee, big mistake. You might as well put a neon light in your yard that says "Fear lives here," and mostly the people who are "threatening" you are just messing with you, because it entertains them to see you wince. If you want their respect, you're going to have to calm yourself down and roll your eyes. Don't REACT. They're looking for your weakness and some of them will totally exploit that knowledge. And in the event of a breakdown of social order where you can't call 911 to solve all your problems, YOU IN DEEP shiz if the only people you know here are people you pay to come take your shit. For example...

  I worked for a woman we'll call Delia, because she acts just like Delia from Beetlejuice, the mean step monster who only thinks about fame and money and keeping up with the Joneses. I mowed Delia's lawn and it took 8 hours to mow it all. I'd get off the mower, sweaty and covered with grass clippings and head to her ridiculously huge mansion to get my pittance check and be treated like a bumpkin who just fell off the turnip truck. I bet she even applauded herself for being so kind to me and occasionally giving me a piece of the fancy bread she makes. She always finds a way to complain to me that they lost a bunch of money (I don't know how) and she's no longer part of the ONE PERCENT, the one percent of people in the US who have more money than the other 99% COMBINED and she's proud of that. 

  Basically she told me that she's a billionaire, and all I could think was, "DUDE. I mow your lawn for minimum wage. Get some rich friends you can talk to about this sadness you're experiencing. Surely there's groups on Facebook who cater to people who feel they've done what they've been sent by spirit to do in this world, like give their barely used country club clothes to people they look down on."

  I never said that, and that's exactly why money is the root of all evil. Rich people don't get told off enough, and to quote several memes, "IT SHOWS." You can't expect to create friendships with people you clearly look down on. 

  One day I arrived, after she INSISTED that I come mow the lawn on Labor Day weekend, on a SUNDAY. Why? Because the guy with the helicopter camera is coming the next day to take fancy pictures of her property so she can sell it. There were like six people there, slaving away on her shrubberies while she walked around in a crisp white button down shirt, like a picture out of a Martha Stewart magazine. She probably applauds herself for that; I swear she looks in the mirror and says things like, "Look at you, you DESERVE this wealth, these slaves willing to work on Sunday just because you had a whim. Look at you, effortlessly rocking this outfit." 

So this where I jump on the mower and concentrate on singing songs so as not to feel pissed at her. Can't. Let. Her. Under. My. Skin, I tell myself and try to remember all the words to every song from the album Southeastern by Jason Isbell. Ear buds? Nawwwww, I'm entertaining myself, training my brain against jealousy, thanks.

  I get about half the yard mowed of the perfectly good farmhouse on their property, the one that wasn't good enough to live in even though it's one of the nicest houses around, which forced them to have to build a 8,500 SF mansion for TWO PEOPLE to live in. ANYWAY, I see this guy, a perfectly nice guy who doesn't realize he's using Mike's ladder, that Mike borrowed from his friend to paint her roof, and because he refused to work for her on a Sunday, she sent a guy out to finish the job of painting the roof (It had been raining for two weeks, which Delia interpreted as Mike being insolent because she doesn't go outside or notice the weather, she just sees everyone as not doing enough for her). YOU CAN'T PAINT A METAL ROOF IN THE RAIN, DELIA. I mean, damn. 

So she replaced Mike, who always does the best job he can possibly do on any job, simply out of integrity, not because it earns him extra money. In fact, it costs extra for the person doing the work when they insist on doing it right, rather than slop, but some people will never see that. The ladder FALLS, because it's windy, and I jump off the mower and RUN to it, because we totally can't afford to replace this enormous aluminum ladder if it got bent when it hit the fence. And Mike would absolutely replace it if it got messed up, because: Integrity.

  I threw that ladder on top of my car, strapped it down and went to the house where Delia was showing everyone how effortless it is to get this much done. I said, "You need to pay me for the hours I've worked and NEVER call us again, because I am SO DONE here, Princess."

Delia: "Well, I don't believe I've EVER had anyone speak to me in such a way!" then goes in house and brings me out $100 bill, which doesn't even cover the trip I made the week before to go to Home Depot and pick up all the paint for the metal roof. I just took it and dropped a few truth bombs on her, stuff she really needed to hear about how to treat people. She responded by telling me that she was going to go in the house and call 911 and have me "removed from her property" and I stood there and laughed until I cried, got in the car and left. I still wave at Delia. I can't figure out why she don't wave back! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Leave Appalachia if you can't take a joke.

  I'm not as proud of that as I sound. She was allowed to treat me in any way she wanted. I was used to these corporate types, and perhaps I should practice what I preach, sit down with her and explain exactly what she's doing that pisses everyone off. Insulting Mike was the last straw for me, that's my only defense. But I'm human. I accept that. 

  When I got home and told Mike what had happened, he laughed until he cried, after first getting pissed that she'd so callously replaced him because he wouldn't work on Sunday so she could have pretty, pretty pictures of the land she only sees in terms of "real estate markets" and equity. Gratitude: get you some.

  

This picture doesn't have anything to do with the story, but maybe it has everything to do with the story, because Erica (left) taught me that sometimes you have to slap a guy in the bar if he gets out of line, and before everyone had a phone in their pocket with a camera on it, it was important to document it. The trick is to tell him that you're slapping him in order to make a cool picture, then actually slap him really hard, laugh and RUN AWAYYYYYYYY