Finding words to adequately describe a day like today would be nearly impossible. Not many offices can boast such oddities as an entire conversational theme devoted to the discussion of rednecks. All day. And by all day, I honestly mean the entire 8 hour working day has drawn on the theme that began in the first hour. If you were to ask any of us how the conversation started, we couldn’t tell you. Bethany claims it began something like this… Amy: “I hate rednecks.” Ron aka Dad: “You shouldn’t be so hateful.” Amy: “I say screw you. I still hate rednecks.” And etc… I claim it began on at least something of a more tasteful note. The first question I remember asking was whether the term “P.C.” in a sentence such as, “That really wasn’t PC” means “Personal Computer” or “Politically Correct” in my coworkers’ vocabularies. (Now might be a good time for me to take a poll…what say you?) The origins of the redneck conversation are unimportant. All I can say is I spent an hour trying to defend why I despise rednecks and then trying to define what I meant by “redneck.” It was determined that I am a close-minded snob who doesn’t appreciate my own roots. I say my roots better not include white trashiness or else I’ll shoot myself. I mean, I tend to describe “redneck” in terms of how much class or lack of class a person has. For instance, my brother lifting his leg to pass gas? Yeah, not classy. The same said brother melting the ice out of a frozen water pipe with a hair dryer across the dining room chairs in his living room? Pretty high on the Redneck-o-meter. Guys who lift their Ford pickups 8 inches and have bumper stickers about hunting and guns and a set of deer antlers to hold their rifles in the back seat of the truck? Pretty much pegs the meter. My dad said I was just bigoted. At one point, Bethany was even encouraging his rebuttals and I exclaimed at her, “Who’s side are you on anyway?!” She laughed. “I’m not partial. Whichever side needs the fire fueled. I’m just a pyro. I don’t care whose fire it is as long as it’s a big one.” There was a couple hour lull in the stormy definition battle as I gathered ammunition on my facebook status. “YES!” I finally exclaimed at one point as a friend defined redneck as, “Anyone who will use duct tape on their vehicle or clothing.” “Guess that makes you redneck,” Lanette piped in. “I distinctly recall helping you duct tape a torn knee on a pair of jeans a couple months ago.” Growl. Defeated again. The conversation took an interesting twist around noon when a client came in for an auto quote. He and dad had been high school buddies and cohorts in crime. To listen to them reminisce, you would think ghetto-mobiles and 1970’s country kid style was cool. I say it’s the perfect example of redneck when your car as a teenager required a screwdriver to pop it out of 2nd gear. Or it backfired 30 seconds after you shut it off and walked away. In the end I have to defend myself. It’s not that I think the snobby blue-blood superficiality is any degree better than the dirty laz-about in his wife beater, beer can in hand and barefoot wife and snotty-nosed kids in tow. I have no problem with the average blue collar worker with roughed up hands from a long day at work anymore than I would be the business suit clad professional. It’s the extreme’s at both ends of society that annoy me. And that was the entire point, before it was sidetracked by a dad who is proud of farting in public and dreams of the old 1970’s Rambler he used to drive. Seriously. Is it too much to ask for people to meet in the middle? | 
