[ This is the second part of my 'Georgia Sucks' trilogy. For part 1, click here. ]

“I thought I was classy and distinguished, then I realized there was a fine line between crazy and genius.”

I was in Thomaston, GA, literally the stereotypical hick capital of the South. I don’t mind the rednecks but I felt like I was surrounded by people who were the butt of Jeff Foxworthy jokes. The only things missing in my life were food stamp vouchers and seven barefoot little babies with mullets running around the trailer park while my obese, cigarette smoking wife of two months yells at me, “tell ya’ll kids to stop running around the dayum porch like a bunch of ditch monkeys“. My entire perception of the south had changed, and not for the better.

My (now ex-) girlfriend, Becca and I had a ramshackle little place right off the main street of the city. It wasn’t beautiful, but Becca was proud of it, and I was proud of Becca for having a place she could finally call her own. Right away I knew something was awry about this town. First off, a couple days after I arrived people eyed me with an unusual glare of suspicion. I know I dress differently from the locals (I’m a t-shirt/jeans guy and they wear Wal-Mart overalls), I know I don’t necessarily enjoy the recreational hobbies of Thomaston (I like basketball and MMA, they like drinking Budweiser, Nascar, and shooting things while drinking Budweiser), and I know I have an accent (I speak with correct annunciation. They slur their words together like someone with a wad of Skoal in their mouth). Either way, I knew I was different. The majority of the townspeople reminded me of this every time I ventured outside.

The fourth day I got out there Becca lost her job. We spent our downtime hanging out at the local Waffle House. The Southern women that worked there were nice enough people, but they kept prying into our business. I couldn’t walk by the Waffle House to a job interview without Becca’s phone blowing up, “NICK IS WALKING BY HERE WITHOUT YOU!!”, or vice-versa. Gossip around Thomaston was rampant. I even heard that Becca banged half the guys in Thomaston (even though she had only been living there two months), which was complete hogwash. When I asked the name of at least one guy she banged no one could answer. Living there was like a constant soap opera. However, not everybody fit my stereotypes, but most people did.

“So stubborn, I don’t trust anyone. I could dream a thousand paths, wake up, and walk an old one”.

I got a job at the local grocery store. Our room-mate and good friend, Patrick, picked up a landscaping job through one of the ladies at the Waffle House. This entire time my relationship with Becca was see-sawing. One day we were great and the next day I was pissed because she was eating the last can of Spaghettios. All the while we were slowly relying on this town to give us a break, when all this town could do was break us. I began stealing small things so we could survive: first it was cheap food, then it graduated to work shoes and sleeping pills, and finally more expensive trinkets. The local Wal-Mart was my personal Nick-Mart. I would walk in and walk out with enough supplies to last us a couple days. I remember telling Becca, “I don’t care if I go to jail, but if I do, I want it to be ME, not you or Patrick, ok?”. Ominous words that I should have paid more attention to at the time.

“I thought I had the gift of perception but it was deception, a fake warm reception when I really became the exception. Another life lesson in session.”

The entire time I was telling my SoCal friends everything was cool in Georgia. Finally, my stomach broke my ego and I called my best friends in San Diego and told them the truth. I told them I was hungry, needed money for food, and that I would be starting work the following week so I could pay them back. None of that was bullshit, it was all true. But my background check took an extra three business days (which is like 8 days in Thomaston) and it put all of us in a financial clusterfuck. Becca, Patrick, and I came to a crossroads of sorts. We had two options: either stay in Thomaston and make it work with our forthcoming meager paychecks, or take a trip to Virginia for greener pastures. That decision came easy when I found out that afternoon we were being evicted. We were two weeks behind on rent and our landlord could no longer afford to continue spotting us. I could either borrow the $500 to keep our place (and rely on whatever jobs that we thought we had) or we could move out by the end of the week and pony up the gas money to go to Virginia.

At first I was the only detractor against going to VA. Where would we stay? Nobody knows me! How would this work? Could I move… again? What happens if this fails? The east coast is risky…how will we make it?

“I thought I could, probably should, but would I be misunderstood? That mentality changed to, ‘I would’…and then I did, and it wasn’t good”.

I made the decision to take my chances with the Virginia trip. But in the meantime, until I could secure the money to get Patrick’s truck out of impound (which is another story for another web site), money for gas and food, and extra cash in our pockets to cover contingents, we were stuck in Thomaston. That night, Becca, Patrick, and I pulled one of our typical 1am Wal-Mart heists and got some grub, some necessities, and some unnecessary crap to go with it. We ended up with over $100 worth of goodies because of my cunning ability to steal things right in front of people and not get caught. Instead of calling it a night and going back to our soon to be evicted pad, I got overconfident. I know, I’m a dumbass.

In the parking lot near our house was an Aaron’s Rental store and in the parking lot were delivery trucks. On the way back, still jazzed about out-smarting loss prevention and local Wal-Mart employees, I made a stupid decision that I will live to regret. I decided to jack one of those Aaron’s trucks. I told Becca and Patrick to whistle if anything happened. Once I got into the truck my vision was blinded by flashing blue & red lights. Then I heard the screeching of the cop cars pulling up.

I was caught dumb-handed.

[  For the finale of my three part GA experience, click here. ]