Southern Hospitality...It's REAL!
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Wow. Moving cross country is more difficult than I remember. Of course, the last time I moved 1500 miles from San Diego, I took my dog and a small truck load of personal items with me.
This time my wife and I moved ourselves and her business over 2100 miles, and filled two 55' semi truck loads to do it. To say its taken us a little bit longer than expected would be an understatement. Our initial ambition was to have the business and running by the first of the year.
Two days in, we're not there yet, but we did get the entire house unpacked, painted, decorated, and organized in less than 3 weeks, still a feat in itself. It's nice to look around and not see any boxes that need unpacking (as long as I don't look in the basement or garage).
Nonetheless, the point of my post, aside from letting those of you I haven't spoken with lately know that I'm alive, was to note my experience of true Southern Hospitality, both along the brutal three 12+ hour days of driving, and here upon our arrival in GA as well.
Let's start with Texas. You all have heard the saying, "Don't mess with Texas!" I think just they say that because deep down they really like being kind and don't want to have to open a can of whoop ass on anyone (which I am sure they are capable of based on the number of gun racks I counted -- even one in the back of a Cadillac!)
Anyway, my wife Parker and I had decided to stop at Dairy Queen for lunch. They seem to be as prevalent in Texas as a Starbucks in Los Angeles; like roaches in a cheap motel, but the food is much better. As I walk up to the door, I see an older couple in their 50's or early 60's, so I reach out, open the door and stand aside to allow them out. Before I have a chance to let them walk by, the woman says to us, "Honey, it's much too cold out there for y'all to be standing around waiting for us!" and insists with a hand motion that we come in before they leave! I'd like to see THAT happen in San Diego. Later that day we struck up a conversation with a couple from San Marcos who was also moving to the Atlanta area at a gas station in Waco after they noticed our CA plates. (Yes, that Waco, TX)
Moving on to the east, I was pleased to make the acquaintance one evening of a local waitress at the Denny's near where we stayed in Shreveport, LA. She'd lived there her whole life and had no desire to leave. Ever. As simple as that may seem, she was the friendliest and sweetest waitress I'd ever met who even went out of her way to say as I left, "Welcome to Dixie!". And she was totally sincere in saying it! What do they put in the water down here?
Arriving in Atlanta to our new home late afternoon on a Monday, we were happy to find the former residents had vacated to their new home and we would not be spending one more night in a hotel with 3 dogs and 2 cats. Don't ask. It was nightmarish.
Anyway, upon finding the key in the previously agreed upon location with our real estate agent Janet, we walked into our new home to find on the fireplace a bright red pionsetta, common around the holidays. I suspected it was our housewarming gift from Janet, but I would be wrong. It was from the former owners of the home saying, "Welcome to your new home. We hope it brings you as much joy and wonderful memories as it has for us." Signed with their names, and new phone number "in case we had any questions."
My jaw almost hit the floor. In California, closings are done separately and the buyer and seller rarely ever meet and usually discover each other's names only during closing when they see the legal names of the transforor and transforee. To have contact with a seller after the sale usually involves an attorney and a court summons. I think I'm going to like real estate much better in the south.
To top it off, the morning after we arrived, I walked out to get my newspaper, the Atlanta-Journal Constitution, and ran into my next door neighbor who was out raking up leaves. I waved and said hello and she walked over to introduce herself. Anna is a chiropractor with her own practice and her husband Robert works for Johnson and Johnson. She welcomed me to the neighborhood and I figured that would be the last I'd see of them. 15 minutes later she dropped by the front door with a card for us. Opening it after she'd left, I found it included a personalized welcome to the two of us along with contact phone numbers "in case we needed anything or had any questions."
I'm serious. I think there's something in the water down here that needs to get shipped west.
This time my wife and I moved ourselves and her business over 2100 miles, and filled two 55' semi truck loads to do it. To say its taken us a little bit longer than expected would be an understatement. Our initial ambition was to have the business and running by the first of the year.
Two days in, we're not there yet, but we did get the entire house unpacked, painted, decorated, and organized in less than 3 weeks, still a feat in itself. It's nice to look around and not see any boxes that need unpacking (as long as I don't look in the basement or garage).
Nonetheless, the point of my post, aside from letting those of you I haven't spoken with lately know that I'm alive, was to note my experience of true Southern Hospitality, both along the brutal three 12+ hour days of driving, and here upon our arrival in GA as well.
Let's start with Texas. You all have heard the saying, "Don't mess with Texas!" I think just they say that because deep down they really like being kind and don't want to have to open a can of whoop ass on anyone (which I am sure they are capable of based on the number of gun racks I counted -- even one in the back of a Cadillac!)
Anyway, my wife Parker and I had decided to stop at Dairy Queen for lunch. They seem to be as prevalent in Texas as a Starbucks in Los Angeles; like roaches in a cheap motel, but the food is much better. As I walk up to the door, I see an older couple in their 50's or early 60's, so I reach out, open the door and stand aside to allow them out. Before I have a chance to let them walk by, the woman says to us, "Honey, it's much too cold out there for y'all to be standing around waiting for us!" and insists with a hand motion that we come in before they leave! I'd like to see THAT happen in San Diego. Later that day we struck up a conversation with a couple from San Marcos who was also moving to the Atlanta area at a gas station in Waco after they noticed our CA plates. (Yes, that Waco, TX)
Moving on to the east, I was pleased to make the acquaintance one evening of a local waitress at the Denny's near where we stayed in Shreveport, LA. She'd lived there her whole life and had no desire to leave. Ever. As simple as that may seem, she was the friendliest and sweetest waitress I'd ever met who even went out of her way to say as I left, "Welcome to Dixie!". And she was totally sincere in saying it! What do they put in the water down here?
Arriving in Atlanta to our new home late afternoon on a Monday, we were happy to find the former residents had vacated to their new home and we would not be spending one more night in a hotel with 3 dogs and 2 cats. Don't ask. It was nightmarish.
Anyway, upon finding the key in the previously agreed upon location with our real estate agent Janet, we walked into our new home to find on the fireplace a bright red pionsetta, common around the holidays. I suspected it was our housewarming gift from Janet, but I would be wrong. It was from the former owners of the home saying, "Welcome to your new home. We hope it brings you as much joy and wonderful memories as it has for us." Signed with their names, and new phone number "in case we had any questions."
My jaw almost hit the floor. In California, closings are done separately and the buyer and seller rarely ever meet and usually discover each other's names only during closing when they see the legal names of the transforor and transforee. To have contact with a seller after the sale usually involves an attorney and a court summons. I think I'm going to like real estate much better in the south.
To top it off, the morning after we arrived, I walked out to get my newspaper, the Atlanta-Journal Constitution, and ran into my next door neighbor who was out raking up leaves. I waved and said hello and she walked over to introduce herself. Anna is a chiropractor with her own practice and her husband Robert works for Johnson and Johnson. She welcomed me to the neighborhood and I figured that would be the last I'd see of them. 15 minutes later she dropped by the front door with a card for us. Opening it after she'd left, I found it included a personalized welcome to the two of us along with contact phone numbers "in case we needed anything or had any questions."
I'm serious. I think there's something in the water down here that needs to get shipped west.
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