The West Virginia Surf Report!

How goes it, boys and girls? As I type this it’s a wondrous Monday holiday. And, because I’m always fond of super-sizing, I took tomorrow off as well. So, I’m in the midst of a big honkin’ four-day weekend. Like I say, wondrous.

I just finished watching the Reds defeat the Phillies 11-1, it’s sunny here (but not super-warm) and there’s a six-pack of one of the best beers in the world in the fridge upstairs. Have you ever had Zombie Dust IPA from 3 Floyds Brewing? Holy shit bulbs! The first time I tried it was at Backyard Ale House in Scranton and was blown away. We don’t see it in stores very often, but Wegmans had it today for $14.49 for six. Rather expensive, but check out the Beer Advocate rating if you don’t trust my word on it.

I’ve also been listening to The Beatles Channel off and on. They’re counting down the top 100 favorite Beatles songs, as chosen by fans. They do it once a year, always over a holiday weekend. Peter Asher is the host and he’s great. He tells stories and drops interesting factoids throughout, that even a big Beatles nerd like myself hasn’t always heard.

So yeah, this has been a really nice day so far. Pass the beer nuts.

In a short while I’ll be up there tending to the grill, cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. And that always makes me happy too. I love the simple burgers and dogs. How can you go wrong? It took a quarter-century or so, but I’ve become very good at manning the grill. Oh, I now turn out some quality charred meats, my friends.

And I have some questions relating to that, if you don’t mind. I’d like to get your thoughts on a few things.

First of all… if you could only choose two, which way would you go? I’d probably go with one of each. I know some people are snobby about the dogs, but I love ‘em. In fact, at any given moment I could launch into a Babe Ruth-style hot dog frenzy that would only end when I blacked out. But I love burgers too. So, I’d have to go with one of each. What about you?

What brand of hot dog do you prefer for home consumption? I think we generally get Nathan’s, but I also see Ballpark Franks occasionally. We were talking about this at work a few days ago and several people mentioned Berk’s. I’m not familiar but am intrigued enough to check it out. Do you have a real preference?

And, what are your go-to hot dog toppings? I have several that I like. Yesterday I had two with mustard, onion, and cole slaw. I also like ‘em with just mustard and onion, and sometimes with mustard and sauerkraut. The classic West Virginia dog is mustard, onion, chili, and cole slaw. If I have all the ingredients I’ll go that way, but it’s rare that I have all four.

I’ve told the story about us being in Florida when I was a kid and seeing a sign outside a restaurant that said ‘We Serve West Virginia Hot Dogs!’ or something along those lines. We were completely confused by this and went inside to investigate. As it turns out… they simply offered slaw as a topping. We had no idea that it was unusual. Everybody ate slaw on their hot dogs, right? Apparently not.

Indeed, even inside the state it’s controversial. Folks up north don’t generally go for the slaw, while it’s popular in the southern part of the state. There’s something called the “slaw line” that dissects West Virginia, and there used to be a sign along the highway where the line supposedly runs. I grew up way down South, deep in slaw country.

Also, what are your go-to burger toppings? I like to pile it on. At home I usually go with lettuce, tomato, onion, ketchup, and mustard. Occasionally bacon too. When I got to Five Guys I sometimes get all that stuff, plus green peppers. Man, that’s solid. Two popular toppings I avoid: pickles and mayo. I can tolerate a little mayonnaise, but the pickles are a hard no.

I have a pretty good handle on the prep at this point, but feel like I could do better with the buns. Any tips will be appreciated.

UPDATE: Dinner was good, and I’m halfway through Zombie Dust number two. Fantastic!

I’ll see you guys again soon.

I hope you had a great holiday.

Support the Surf Report with a monthly $4 donation at Patreon, and get an extra podcast episode every week! We’re also at Venmo (@thewvsr) and PayPal ([email protected]). In Canada? Do your shopping at Amazon! Thank you, guys!

 

My plan, when I started this one, was to share one insane story from each of my main jobs throughout my life. But I quickly realized that it would translate into 10,000 words or something ludicrous. So, I’ll just do the West Virginia jobs — the stoopid early ones, when I was young, Jiffy-Popped, and adrift. Please feel free to adapt as you see fit, and share your stories in the comments. I attempted to come up with stories that were truly crazy, but for each job I could likely come up with five more. Hopefully I chose the right ones? Let’s get to it, shall we?

The paper route

One day I was doing the route and my friend Steve was with me. We saw some guy hide something in a space between two buildings on 16th Street. He kept looking around, all nervous and twitchy. After he disappeared we walked over there to investigate, and found a brown paper bag with a porno magazine inside. We were maybe 12 or 13 years old and had seen Playboy and Penthouse and things like that. But this was something far sleazier and way more graphic. We began flipping through it and it was grotesque. It made me want to go home and pet my dog, talk to my grandmother, or engage in some other wholesome activity. But we couldn’t look away. Finally we turned a page and there was a GIGANTIC close-up of a terrible vagina. I mean, we had no real frame of reference, but this thing was larger than life and… and something seemed off about it. After a split second of stunned silence both of us began howling in protest, “Oh God! Look at that thing! Look at it!!” It was like a monster. Or a zoomed-in plate of three-cheese manicotti or something. It was not erotic in the least, and seemed exploded and damaged. For some reason I think the magazine was German, but I’m not sure about that. We put it back in the hiding spot, and it wasn’t there the next time we looked. I was secretly relieved, but pretended to be disappointed and shouted, “Dammit!”

The toll bridge

I was on the overnight shift one evening, working by myself at the foot of the Dunbar Toll Bridge. I was out in the booth, probably looking at a book or magazine, when I heard the office door slam. What the?! It was probably 2:30 am… and somebody just went into the office? <Gulp> This was no good. And like some idiot in an ’80s slasher film I went to investigate. As I opened the door I remember my heart hammering in my chest, not knowing what I might be walking into. And inside the storage room I found a middle-aged woman in a fancy dress sitting on a large case of toilet paper. She was completely smashed. I asked if I could help her and she said she was waiting on Charlie, or some name like that. She was so drunk she could barely talk. I told her there’s nobody else around and she couldn’t stay in there. So she got up and began teetering down the middle of 10th Street on the sides of her shoes. After about 30 yards she turned, raised both middle fingers and shouted, “Fuuuuuuck you!!” Then she disappeared into the night.

Fas-Chek grocery store

One day a woman came in, filled a cart with groceries, placed a nickel in the front windowsill, and walked out the front door without paying. One of the managers, a guy named Skeeter, rocketed out of the elevated big-shot stand and went after her. He brought her back into the store, and began talking to her in the frozen food aisle. By this point a few of us had gathered round to see what the hell was going on. Skeeter asked her for an explanation and she was highly agitated and kept mentioning “kumquat money.” We all just looked at each other in confusion, but it apparently had something to do with the nickel she’d tried to leave behind. Skeeter said he had no idea what in the sweet and sour shit kumquat money is, and ordered somebody to call the police. That’s when things moved into a different phase. The woman — a large black lady, roughly 30 years old — let loose with a crazed shriek, and threw a roundhouse punch that connected squarely with Skeeter’s jaw. We tried to intervene but she was going wild and screeching like a mountain cat. She got Skeeter in a backwards bear-hug, and began spinning him round and round. Skeeter’s tiny feet were bicycling wildly, and he had a look of pure terror on his face. We finally got them separated and the police arrived moments later. They asked her for a name and she said it was “Secretariat.” I don’t know… Like with the German vagina referenced above, something was clearly askew here. I think the woman was suffering some kind of mental health issue, and I’m fairly certain the store opted not to press charges. But Skeeter never heard the end of it, and his prodigious mustache would twitch in agitation every time someone brought it up.

Exxon convenience store

I worked the overnight shift at this place as well, always with another person. One hardened redneck gentleman I was often paired with had some kind of personal issue with a guy on the 3 to 11 shift. Who the hell knows why? It was probably stemming from an argument about snuff or aftermarket mufflers. But he was stewing and grousing about this person for several days, vowing eventual hick revenge. And one day he came in snickering with excitement. I asked him what was going on and he showed me a large three-pronged hook. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?” I asked. And he just snickered like Muttley again. Later that evening, after the owners went home, he told me his plan. At the end of each shift the cash registers are zeroed out, a report is printed, and most of the money is placed inside a bank bag. And that bag is shoved through a mail slot in the locked manager’s office door. He was going to feed that hook and some fishing line through the mail slot, grab his nemesis’s bank bag, remove a hunk of cash and put it back. Then the guy would presumably get into trouble, and maybe even be fired. I just stood there blinking real fast, amazed by his sustained hatred and ingenuity. He went to work and it took a long time. At one point he emerged in a state of panic. He said he’d snagged a desk chair and couldn’t work it loose. The chair was now pulled all the way up against the door. I shrugged, having no suggestions for him. He went back and eventually came strutting out with the evening shift’s bank bag. He sat down behind the checkout counter, in a state of triumph, and began counting the cash. He pocketed more than $100, but some odd number like $116 or $133. Something like that. He asked if I wanted any and I told him no. So he put it back through the slot, and walked around with a glow of victory the rest of the night. I asked him about the desk chair and he said he’d shoved a broomstick through there and moved it back near the desk. Now, all there was to do was wait for the fallout. The guy’s drawer was now a complete disaster. This was going to be great! And yeah… not a word was ever said about it.

Like I said, I could come up with several other stories for each of those ridiculous jobs. But I hope you enjoyed the ones I chose. If you’d like to share one crazy story from one, some, or all of your jobs, please use the comments.

And I’m going to call it a day, my friends.

I’ll see you on the podcast side o’ things, and in the Friday email. Sign up here if you haven’t.

Have yourselves a wonderful week!

UPDATE: I told an alternate story from the four workplaces listed above on the latest episode of the podcast. Check it out here.

Support the Surf Report with a monthly $4 donation at Patreon, and get an extra podcast episode every week! We’re also at Venmo (@thewvsr) and PayPal ([email protected]). In Canada? Do your shopping at Amazon! Thank you, guys!

As you can see, I’m about 495 miles from Dunbar, WV — my hometown. But I’ve also been 251 miles (Greensboro, NC), 507 miles (Atlanta, GA), and 2324 miles (Santa Clarita, CA). When I was young I repeatedly proclaimed that I’d never leave West Virginia, and meant it. I’m not sure what that was rooted in, but felt strongly about it. Then I began to panic as my 23rd birthday approached and didn’t have jack-shit going on. So, I not only left my parents’ house, but left the state. It was a sudden and out-of-left field decision, but I don’t regret it. It worked out OK. I still love West Virginia, of course, but have had many cherished adventures since I left there.

The reason I bring this up… apparently one of our kids is moving out this summer. He’s also 22, same age as I was. But I feel weird about it. He has one year left of college, and I wish he’d just continue living here until he graduates. But, it’s his decision. He accused me of talking him out of it the last time this came up, and he’s absolutely correct about that. I tried to do it again this time. Oh well. Maybe it will do him some good somehow? He’s pretty mature, so there’s not a lot o’ growing up he needs to do. Not like me at that age; I was a freaking basket-case. But, something maybe. We’ll see.

How far from your hometown are you? And if you’re still in your hometown, how far are you from your childhood home? Please tell us about it. Use the comments.

The boy, in case you were wondering, will be fewer than 10 miles from us. So, he’s not venturing far. Just… out. Like I say, I feel weird about it. Sometimes this house seems pretty damned crowded with four adults living in it. But I get no joy from the thought of one of us not being here. I know it’s inevitable, and the way of the world. But I don’t have to love it, do I?

In any case, how far have you ventured? Please bring us up to date on it.

And I’ll see you guys again soon.

Support the Surf Report with a monthly $4 donation at Patreon, and get an extra podcast episode every week! We’re also at Venmo (@thewvsr) and PayPal ([email protected]). In Canada? Do your shopping at Amazon! Thank you, guys!

How goes it, my friends? I took today off from work, and am operating at a decidedly casual pace. I just polished off a Moe’s burrito. I hadn’t been inside that place in years, possibly five or more. I’m not a huge fan. I believe Chipotle is roughly a million times better. But, on a whim, I decided to return. It was alright, not great. I noticed they don’t have the ridiculous names for their offerings anymore. Like “Joey Bag o’ Donuts” and stuff like that. That’s better. And it’s all remodeled and semi-fancy in there. It’s been a long time. But the food tasted exactly like I remember it. Like I said… alright, not great.

Also, the rosy-cheek nerd who was taking my order was trying to rush me through my choices, which I didn’t appreciate. Every time I asked for another component he’d bark — before I’d even finished speaking — “Anything else?!” There was nobody behind me, no need for the extra pressure. I wanted to tell him to calm his tits and not get his Rosacea in an uproar, but was able to maintain somehow. It might be a few years before I go back. We’ll see.

Today I wanted to get your feedback on profanity. I have a few questions on the subject I jotted down in the ol’ notebook. What say we start powering through them?

How much cursing was there in your house while you were growing up?

My folks would let some words fly, on a semi-regular basis. But only the lower-caliber ones like shit and damn and hell, and things like that. I’ve NEVER heard either of them use the f-word, not once in my entire life. It might’ve happened when we were not around, but never in front of me or my brother. My grandmother, who lived directly across the street from us, never used any profanity whatsoever. She might be the only person I’ve spent a considerable amount of time with that I could say that about. Her husband, my grandfather, made up for it, though. He was cussing for two. Heh.

At what age did your parents first hear you say a swear word?

I was probably seven or eight and my dad overheard me and my friend Doug repeatedly use the word shit. Inexplicably, there was some spelling of it too. I remember him bringing it up, and kinda laughing about us hollering S-H-I-T! S-H-I-T! He was both amused and confused, but also wanted me to know he’d heard it and we should probably tread lightly. I was embarrassed, so it worked. I still don’t curse (much) around my parents. It’s a respect thing.

How do you feel about cussing in front of kids?

I take the same approach as my folks did. However, my kids have definitely heard me drop a few f-bombs. Not many, it’s not a word I use all the time. But it’s definitely part of the repertoire, especially as the boys got older. We’ve never been the types to fill every sentence with swear words, but the potential for an outburst is always there. Sometimes I hear people spewing the crassest, trashiest language in front of young children and don’t care for it. I know they’re only words, and all that. But at some point it causes me to furrow my brow in a judgmental manner.

Who are the most prolific swearers you’ve met?

It’s mostly co-workers for me. I’ve known people through the years who seemingly can’t communicate without the word fuck. It’s in every sentence, and used as a verb, adverb, noun, adjective, modifier, etc. If some of those guys (almost always guys) were forced to stop using the word, it would be like asking you or me to stop using the letter e. I’ve worked in and around warehouses for many years, and also in the music industry. I know profanity, and sometimes it takes over a person’s life. Like kudzu on an outbuilding.

What are your favorite swear-word substitutes you’ve heard?

These usually come from women, I notice. Here are a few that jump immediately to mind:

• flippin’
• frickin’
• I don’t give a kitty
• cheese and rice
• cheese and crackers
• son of a B
• oh, sugar
• fiddle sticks
• bull butter
• quit fiddle-farting around

What do you have on this subject? Please feel free to answer any or all of the questions. Use the comments section.

I also remember, when I was young, being over at a kid’s house (a blue ribbon weirdo, btw) who told his sister to stop “bugging” him. And his mother flew off the handle and told him she doesn’t tolerate profanity in her house. I was totally confused, and still am. He said, “stop bugging me.” Nothing else. Profanity?? What the? And I had a boss who didn’t like when I described somebody as “cocky.” She said the root word is “cock,” which is something I’d never considered. Not once in my entire life. To this day I kinda self-edit when the word “cocky” jumps into my mind. And my grandmother on my dad’s side HATED the word “fart.” She had a giant problem with it. So we had to say things like “let one fly.” Hilarious.

Please let me know your thoughts, and have a great weekend.

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Support the Surf Report with a monthly $4 donation at Patreon, and get an extra podcast episode every week! We’re also at Venmo (@thewvsr) and PayPal ([email protected]). In Canada? Do your shopping at Amazon! Thank you, guys!

I apologize in advance. This one is going to be a quickie, ’cause I gots no time. As I type this, the younger boy is heading over to KFC to purchase, on my behalf, their much ballyhooed new chicken sandwich. My instructions: If it comes in a meal, get the meal. If not, just get that deep-fried poultry ball as a standalone. “Um, OK,” was his puzzled, but used-to-it response. As soon as it arrives, I’ll go upstairs, try it out, and return to the bunker for my review. How’s that sound?

Have you tried this thing? What are your thoughts? When everybody was whipped into a frenzy about the Popeye’s chicken sandwich, I tried it a few times, and thought it was fine. Actually, pretty good. But nowhere near as tasty as Chick-fil-A, and much saltier. I’ve had the Popeye’s sandwich maybe three or four times now, because people at work love ’em, and don’t really have a need to ever eat one again. I sort of enjoy it while I’m having it, then feel my blood pressure spiking due to the sodium load. It’s fairly disgusting.

OK, he’s here… Give me ten minutes.

I’m back. He was able to secure a meal, and chose Coke as the drink. Here’s the reality pic:

It was decent, but I’m not blown away. The chicken is extra-crispy, and there’s mayo and pickles on it. The bun is supposedly buttered, which is a nice touch. But is it better than Chick-fil-A? Ha! That’s my answer. It’s bigger, and probably cheaper. But not anything super-special. It’s a standard-issue fast food chicken sandwich. I took a couple of bites with the pickles, just to get the full experience. Then I plucked those nasty bastards off. I could still taste the residue, but it was now a muted nastiness.

I don’t know. There’s so much chicken sandwich hype. This thing is fine, definitely not terrible. But it’s not as good as what you could get at Wendy’s for the last hundred years or so. I feel like there might be a salt issue with this one, too. I can already feel it taking hold. Also, there was a stringiness that was slightly off-putting. Every time I took a bite it was still tethered to the mothership, if you know what I mean. I had to move the sandwich far away from my mouth to snap the cord. Not great.

Apparently Burger King is coming out with a new chicken sandwich, as well. I don’t know if it’s out, but I do know I haven’t tried it. Here are my rankings, so far:

1. Chick-fil-A (with a bullet!)
2. Wendy’s Homestyle (available since the Carter Administration, or some shit)
3. KFC
4. Popeye’s

The last two could flip-flop and I wouldn’t have an issue with it. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

What are your thoughts on this important issue? How would you rank the FAST FOOD chicken sandwich? I put fast food in all caps, ’cause I’m not talking about some diner on the outskirts of Tulsa that “does” the best chicken sandwich in the world. I’m talking about shitty fast food, OK? Chick-fil-A is easily the best, in my opinion. And the tried and true Wendy’s Homestyle is better than any of the new interloper sandwiches. Right? Right. Please share your thoughts.

And if you didn’t have a chicken sandwich for lunch, what did you have? We need to know.

I have to go to work now. One more day of “opportunities” to navigate, then two glorious days off.

Have a great one, my friends!

Support the Surf Report with a monthly $4 donation at Patreon, and get an extra podcast episode every week! We’re also at Venmo (@thewvsr) and PayPal ([email protected]). In Canada? Do your shopping at Amazon! Thank you, guys!