"That short for something?"
'Nope.'
"Is your real name Arthur?"
'Nope.'

The other day when Dare gave me a dose of my own medicine I kinda felt like a female dog so I pulled back like NATO in Israel and shot billiards with him. We were somewhere we didn't plan on being.

Pura and I took off to do some white water rafting at Smoky Mountain White Water Tubing in Townsend, Tennessee—30 miles east. That's how it started anyway, plan's a funny word.

I said something about the weather here to an older gentleman awhile back; freezing, hot, raining, not, something something something. He said "if'n y'done like the wither juz'closure eyes mmkay & cown'ta 10." When we left it looked like:



Townsend is a small mountain community of less than 500 tucked away in the Smoky Mountains. A little over two thousand years ago it was dubbed one of three gateways to the Smokies. Destination—Little River. Every road in Townsend runs parallel to a river. When we got there it looked like:



We closed our eyes and did all that cown'ta 10 horse shit like dude said—nothing. Either that or he left out a critical step about count backwards or something cuz each time we opened our eyes the rain intensified. Locals can sense we're transplants and, when given opportunity to deceive me, I'm convinced they jump like seniors at the pharmacy when clinical trials need a volunteer.

We didn't exit the car. We were the only vehicle in the mud soaked parking lot actually. Seems white water rafting during intermittent downpours is a safety hazard. Makes no sense to me, it's all the same water, whatever. We didn't do any rafting.

We went back the way we came—no destination in front of us. Windshield wipers can't keep up with the late spring storm. If a restaurant between here and there presents itself on this deserted, single-lane, water soaked mountain road, we'll duck inside for a cup of coffee or something.

Cold Drinks!

Said white spray paint on the aluminum trash can lid leaning against a tree in the middle of the forest. I stopped the car. Pura hates it when I do that. Her instinctual reaction during an impromptu situation is something based on a Dateline 2020 special about an axe murderer terrorizing Smoky Mountain residents.

"We da fugawi?" She asked in her I'm not so sure about this voice. We da fugawi is privileged spousal lingo for "where the fuck are we?!"

'I have no idea.' Turned the car off, 'let's check it out.' She pointed at the abandoned looking single-wide mobile home in the middle of the forest with a dozen pieces of farm equipment parked outside, "you're trippin!"

But the trash can lid said cold drinks. 'We can't not go in.' I gave her one of those innocent I didn't think it would stink half smiles. 'When's the last time you had a cold drink at a shithole single-wide in the middle of the forest in the pouring rain?'

I went around and opened her door. She refused to open it herself. She looked at me like I looked at her when Joe Biden said you need F-15's or nuclear weapons to take on the government. 'C'mon,' I stuck my hand out, 'let's see what we see.'

We hurried across the muddy ground and up the longest wheelchair access ramp I've ever embarked to an entrance door missing a doorknob. I undid the bungee cord, we stepped inside.



Unnoticed we are NOT! I must've missed the sign that said Overalls, Sandals & Socks No problem. To our right's a pair of pub tables, each with three or four barstools, all but one are occupied by eyeballs staring intently in our direction. There's two pool tables on the left, one's empty, there isn't a bar or refrigerator or tap handles or anything. One closet is all I see, no kitchen.

Pura whispered under her breath, "I fuckin hate it when you do this." She's always so reluctant in weird, unfamiliar and possibly dangerous situations. 'Relax, there's enough attention on us right now without the F-bombs.' But the trash can lid said cold drinks, I don't even see a sink.

"How ya'all dewn? C'mon in where it ain't wet, whadll'ya have?" She's sitting at the crowded table nearest us.

I'm not sure if she's being nice or works here, 'could we get two waters please?' ah! HA! HA! Laughed all the prying eyed hillbilly patrons who drive tractors to the make-shift pub.

She went over to the closet. When she opened the door I saw four of those extra, extra long white ice chests—long enough to be a picnic bench. "We gots Dr. Pepper & Budweiser ya'all, whats'yer pleasure?"

Well that didn't help. Neither Pura or myself drink alcohol or soda but you know what they say about Roam...

'Two Dr. Peppers please.'

She reached in an ice chest and pulled out two cold Dr. Peppers. "Suds are three, duds are free" which meant beers are three bucks and sodas are on the house. She handed us each a Dr. Pepper, "I'm Pat, holler if'ya need me."

'Thank you.'

Pura made a break for the toilet. While she's doing that I made my way to the vacant pool table. Not an eyeball in that joint was fixated on anything other than myself in anticipation of my next move like a Janet Jackson Super Bowl performance. I pretended to check it out (pool table) as though I'd never seen one (pool table). Dude shooting pool by himself at the other table greeted me, "Dare."

That's it, "Dare." He didn't just say Dare, either, he extended the A sound about two seconds too long. He's gesturing his hand to shake mine, "Daaaare."

'Darren?' I asked.

"Daaare."

'Daryl?'

"Daaare."

Dare it is! 'Nice to meet you, Dare. I'm Arts.'

"Arrrr?"

'Arts.'

"Arrrr?"

'Yeah,' fuck it! 'Arrr' I said, 'pleasure to be met, Dare' and shook dudes hand. He pointed to the table, asked if I wanted to play, 'rack'em Dare.'

Pura's back from the toilet. "Let me know if he gets too intense" she said, "he's good at that." 'Dare, this is my wife [Pura], Pura... Dare.'

Dare got down on one knee all Southern Hospitality style, took off his hat and held it to his chest, "avernew'n, ma'am."

The three of us shot some pool. I paid little attention to the game but had a great time misunderstanding Dare. I'm pretty sure he builds bird houses, I think that's what he said. I only understood about 20% of his southern drawl.

Pura and I threw back a few cold Pepper's—zing!!! When you don't drink soda regularly, sugar is impressive. We finished another game and said our goodbye's, 'been a pleasure, Dare, we're outta here. Eh, where's the best catfish in town?'

"Days Inn."

What?? That's a got dang motel. He didn't say 'Days Inn,' I must've misunderstood him, 'where?'

"Days Inn."

He definitely said Days Inn. 'Days Inn as in the motel, Days Inn?' I looked at Pura, she's as confused as I am, "Days Inn" she asked. Neither of us ever heard of a Days Inn with a dinner menu.

"Days Inn. Exit 68 at'da pallet."

I pulled out my phone and zoomed in on exit 68, 'right here?' Pointing at my phone cuz I'll never see a pallet on the side of the road, 'there's a Days Inn there and a pallet?'

"Mm Hmm, right'der. Exit'da pallet."

Pura, "at the pallet, got it, he loves Catfish. It was nice meeting you Dare." He got down on one knee again, "ma'am."

'Pleasure to be met!'



We continued on whatever the name of that mountain road was until we found an eastbound 40 entrance. We entered the freeway at exit 50 something so we should be seeing that pallet pretty soon where the Days Inn is.

68 - 2 miles. 66, 67, there it is. We pulled off the freeway. It's a four way stop, road turns left or continues forward, forward puts you back on the freeway. We looked all around for a pallet, she doesn't see one on her side, either, I don't see a pallet anywhere. We made a left turn. All we see is a gas station and a strip mall, no Days Inn, no pallet.

We scoped out the strip mall, nothing, opened our phones—no motels around here at all. No Days Inn, Motel 6, nothing. There's a strip mall and a gas station, that's it.

We verified we exited 68, we did. It's still pouring rain outside but according to what's around us and according to google maps, the nearest Days Inn is 50 miles away. And there's no pallet. Either we misunderstood Dare or he knew exactly what he was doing when he saw California step inside that single-wide.

Before we threw in the towel, I went inside the gas station to ask an attendant about the best catfish in town.



Pilot, that's funny. Both Pura and I confirmed Pallet with Dare I don't know how many times; pallet, pallet, pallet. That's that southern drawl thing I have difficulty understanding, neither myself or Pura knew Dare was saying 'Pilot.'

A young couple beat me to the register. They're giggling, she's twitching around as he randomly tickles her, they're being young and in love as I waited behind them. He's still tickling her, she's pushing back, "cut it out." When the attendant rang up their items the young girl asked "ya'all gotsa shovel back'der I'm fixin'ta bury this'n?" The attendant gestured her index finger at the young man, "we ain't gotsa shovel but I gotsa Wompin Stick."

That's what she said, "I gotsa Wompin Stick." I wasn't sure if I should be concerned or laugh out loud. The three of them thought it was funny so I joined the festivities. The young couple grabbed their items and left... 'Wompin Stick'.

We da fugawi!

"Can I hep'yew?"

'Yes, please. We just met a gentleman who said the best catfish in town is right here somewhere at a Days Inn, you have any idea what he's talking about?'

"Awe yea, well he ain't a lie I tell'ya dat. They closed t'day'n'all bein it's Sundee but ya'all come back t'morra fer supper. Best catfish in Tennessee!"

'So there is a Days Inn right here somewhere?'

"Yea, Days Inn. It's Rght'der" pointing at the one and only strip mall Pura and I just circled to no avail.

'Days Inn? Right there?' We're pointing at the same structure.

"That's it, right'der. They closed t'day'n'all but ya'all come back t'morra y'hear, catfish ta'die'fer."

'Tomorrow it is then, thank you.'

I have no idea what just happened. I left the station even more confused than when I got there. I think this Days Inn thing's an inside joke the whole state is in on it and they know we're not from here.

"Get it figured out?" Pura asked as I quickly ducked inside the car to escape the rain. 'I think they're fuckin with us.' I told her I think 'Days Inn' is an inside joke and they know we're not from here. The clerk in there pointed at that strip mall we just circled, said "the best catfish in Tennessee is there at Days Inn but they're closed today."

We went back over there. I've never seen a Days Inn that wasn't a multi-floor building but maybe this one's different. Maybe we're missing something.



You gotta be kidding me—too funny. Where's Ashton Kutcher?! I looked all over the place, he's gotta be around here somewhere. Both myself and Pura confirmed Days Inn with Daaarre I don't know how many times. The station attendant and myself just went back and forth "Days Inn.. Days Inn" two or three more times and not once did anyone anywhere say Daisying!