Cock in the Park

I often go to Urban Dictionary in search of the true meaning of my life. For me, it’s more “cut and dry” than The Bible or Deepak Chopra. The definitions are short and while not always sweet, they are tangible for sure. Because I’ve been stuck in this hell hole for 6 years now, today I sought a deeper understanding as to the “How’s and Why’s” of my landing:
trail*er park
(noun)1. an over-priced area of land filled with trailers 2. usually contains pot heads who didn't/won't graduate, pregnant teenagers, 5 year olds who say 'fuck', nosy old people, one or more displays of the confederate flag, and sometimes (only in crowded ones) a meth lab. 3. occupied by white trash and avoided by most people.
Did you see Cops yesterday? The hick who got arrested lives in a trailer park.

There are days when the action just doesn’t find us here and then there are the other days. I got a call to join the small gathering in the middle of the street yesterday. Wanting to fit in, I remained in my flannels, my hair uncombed and my teeth unbrushed and I joined my fellow "trailers":
trail*er
(adj.) 1. shortened version of trailer trash to describe their social and economic standing. 2. used to describe poor uncultured white people/rednecks that live in trailer homes because their dad is a drunk loser or their mom is a single slut parent working either collecting welfare or working at a check cashing store. 3. trailer people are known for eating macaroni and cheese with weenies and cheap light beer for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Popularized by 8-Mile the movie, and My Name is Earl TV show. Trailer is related to ghetto but one is white the other black, but both distinctly low-class.
A'ight Jim-Bob, fuck it then lets just get drunk and do some donuts at Walmart.

There's Senor Ayala in his Perma-Press Security Uniform, Gustavo smelling of pollo and pinto beans, Annalee Focker (Actually, it’s Forcker but if the shoe fits…) with her yapper Muffy, and Dustin accompanied by his psychotic wife and their rat-faced dog who is currently “undocumented.” The army man’s wife is peering out her blinds taking pictures because she hates me and won’t come within a yard. We’re all staring at this an ostentatious strutting peafowl of a visitor who has somehow made its way to our grotto.
“Que bonito.”
“Es un hombre.” (It’s a male.)
“ Wow! It’s beautiful.”
“Wonder how the heck it got here.”
“?Es comestible?” (Is it edible?) After hearing that I realize it’s
much too early for me to drink… “¡NO! USTED NO PUEDE COMER. IR A SAVE-MOR PARA POLLO!" (NO! You can't eat it. Go to Sav-Mor for chicken!)
He continues to debate me…
“Es pavo, verdad?” (It’s a turkey, right?)
“IT’S A GOD-DAMN PEACOCK, GUSTAVO!” I’m losing it.
I’m losing it because in reality it hits me that I belong here. The ancestral dark side of me that none of you know; my roots that were planted on the dusty trails of Oklahoma and in log cabins deep in the mountains of a Tennessee Valley... So I join in the merriment and laugh with my neighbors and comment on the azure and slate blues on its neck, and then I put on my “manager’s hat” and promise to locate its owner. Amazingly I do: A one-armed man and his grandmother who live on the other side of the grove own the bird who now has managed to shit all over Focker’s roof and is perched there gawking at all of us fools. After hosing the roof, it jumps down and that grandma (abuela) grabs its feet in one fucking rapid swoop and it is hanging upside down before we all could even blink. Then the one-armed man puts the bird and the abuela in his beat-up Camaro and heads back over the hill…
Later, when I was tucked away in my abode, it occurred to me that this was probably the most entertainment they had seen in weeks and that it was the highlight of their meaningless days. And for a brief moment, I feel a twinge of compassion for all of them, for their lives, for the choices they’ve made, for the opportunities that have skipped over them. For one brief moment sarcasm escapes my body and I am walking in their shoes. And you know what my friends? As much as I hate to admit this to you...The shoes fit fairly well.
-tpg