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10/22/2004


A story from the past about me getting confused by advertising:
When I was a pubescent teen in the beautiful town of Hendersonville, N.C. there wasn't much to do.
"Let's get drunk."
"Now I'm drunk, let's look at signs."
So, look at signs we did.

There was one sign that it took me, seriously, almost THREE years to figure out. It was outside a cafe tucked back in the loops of the mountains.

NOT FAST
FOOD GOOD
FOOD FAST

"What the hell does that mean? Not fast?"
I thought they were priding themselves on their slow, country cooking.

"Food good?"
Well, we were in the South. "Maybe a hillbilly caveman wrote it."

"Food fast?"
Wait, I thought the food wasn't fast! Or is the service that is fast? And why is the food fast and not the people? Does the food cook itself?
Did the person writing the sign get so disgruntled about having to put letters together to communicate that they just fried their brain and forgot about the speed of their restaurant?

"Damn it all to hell, Ma, I t'ain't communicatin' no more with these words!"

WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT SIGN MEAN?
WHAT? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Then it came to me, like an angel floating through the fog of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
"Not fast food, good food fast."
Oh, thanks, comma.
Violent Stick People
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