When I was a tad, the popular superstition was that truck drivers knew all the best restaurants. Then I ate in a genuine truck stop in Indiana--they even had segregated seating for truckers-- and found out that the food was apparently pre-chewed. Not even at the gnarliest buffets in Vegas, have I seen such a range of gravy-soaked slurries, slopped down for the dentally challenged. Time has already buried the myth of truckers being gourmets. Let me be the last to spit on its grave.
Now for another myth: video clerks know the best movies. I'm still in shock about this one, but I was at Sargent Video the other afternoon to catch up on back episodes of Six Feet Under. The Sarge, as I've written before, is a no-nonsense character running a one-man vid store in our gunfire-prone post-industrial town. (Hint: Samuel Jackson once played a coach at our local high school, and you best believe that Samuel L. doesn't waste his time with suburban brats.) One time, Sarge rented me a copy of Jules and Jim for free, and he's given me breaks on late fees. I know there's some warmth underneath the crustiness. Still, knowing that the Sarge is not a man to be provoked, I hated to get between him and the TV he was watching, desperate as I was to find out how David Fisher bounced back from nearly being murdered by a raving crack addict. Looking up at his monitor, it took me about 60 seconds to Name That Movie ... longer than usual, because I refused to believe the sensory input.
Sarge was watching the grand finale of Waterworld. For pleasure.