Things about KC I wish someone had told me.

When driving down the highway and you take a particular exit, to turn around or whatnot, it is okay if you end up in a small one lane tunnel with train tracks. It is understandable to be scared but that light you see at the end of the tunnel is not a train barreling towards you. For some reason they made the exit to the trainyard this way and cars are supposed to go down that tunnel. This knowledge will not, however, prevent friends also in the car from either screaming or mocking you later.

KCians take their barbecue seriously. There is a place downtown, Arthur Bryant’s I think, that is supposedly the cat’s meow for barbecue but for us civilized city folk it is disgusting. It is a tiny place that looks filthy on the outside and rest assured it is even grosser inside. Meet hangs on racks in what must be unsanitary conditions. A sandwich will be made in front of you: the cook(?) will grab 2 slices of Wonder, yes Wonder bread, and with a paintbrush apply enough sauce to guarantee the bread is soup by the time it is in your fingers. Large slabs of meat will then be applied.

A friend of mine, a 300 pound New Orleansian that would willingly eat the ass end of a menstruating skunk when hungry, went with me and was as scared for his intestinal track as I was. So, this is not the ranting of some overly-pampered citified version of a dude. I am an overly-pampered citified dude, but I am from Dallas so I am still cool (read: bangable). So my Mom tells me, cool that is. Ewwwwwww. What have I done?

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