Centralia, IL -- It makes me proud

So I'm in Centralia. Nothing about this town has changed in 23 years. It's still small, scummy, and full of not-smart people.


I went to a Mexican restaurant today (I know...what?!?) with my dad and Shelley. Our waiter was a sweet, little hispanic boy and he spoke very little english. My dad asked for milk to drink (weird) and the waiter stood there with a blank look in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. My dad thought that the waiter must not have understood, so he thought it would be a good idea to make cow-milking hand motions. He also felt the need to specify that he wanted milk from a cow...not goat milk (I milked a goat one time, it was fun). The waiter then began asking my dad one-word questions about his thousands of tattoos. He actually lifted up my dad's shirt to try to see them all! He looked and pointed at me and said, "you?" I quickly said "no, no tattoos." Then he turned to my dad's wife--all of her tattoos are in hidden places and she has enough sense not to reveal them, thank the Lord! The waiter asked my dad if he thought he could get a tattoo. Of course he asked this by pointing to his arm and saying, "Me? Tattoo?"


A few minutes later the waiter was over at the table across from us. It was a family who had obviously just come from church...I didn't know people went to church around here. Anyway, this horrible 17 year old boy asked the waiter, "Do you speak Spanish?" WHAT!?!?! What an idiot! I was sick to my stomach at this kid. He then started asking the waiter, "How do you say cheese?" "How do you say run?" "How do you say (feel free to fill in the blank here, I think the kid asked about every word in the dictionary)"


As miserable and awkward as our experience was with him, I would much rather him have come back and hung out with us than go through that. My dad has plenty of more tattoos he could have shown him.