© 2018 by Bill Murphy
Once a Mississippian, always a Mississippian I say. I was born and raised in the fair Magnolia State, and until age 70, lived here. I currently live in SOUTHERN Illinois, a far cry from the graft and guns of Chicago. In the previous sentence, I used the word ‘here’ because I am HERE as I write these words, visiting friends and relatives.
I’ve just returned for a store which shall remain unnamed. The name doesn’t matter. It’s just a deep-south-Mississippi type place. OK. It was Dollar General.
The store was crowded. There was only one cashier on hand to accept my one dollar for my one item. But I was the 9th one in line. Patience is a virtue scripture tells me. Mine keep trying to slip from my grasp.
There was one other ‘employee’ in sight, obviously one in management. He kept ambling to and fro, in places that only employees should go, inspecting and moving around items that customers would not be allowed to handle. I say he was ‘ambling,’ because his movement could in no way be labeled as walking. It was more a slow shuffle, an amble… what one does when they have all the time in the world – and are using it.
Mr. Molasses was obviously being paid by the hour, and Dollar General and the 9 of us in the check-out line were NOT getting our dollars worth.
Yes. I was back home… in Mississippi. I didn’t need the cotton fields, cornbread, boiled peanuts, and Ole Miss bumper stickers to reming me. And I sure didn’t need a map to tell me that I was back home in MOLASSISSIPPI.