The other day I was driving north on Interstate 65 in my home state of Alabama when I saw a sign advertising a Halloween store at an approaching exit. As the first day of Halloween had just passed (You all know that Halloween is a season, right? It isn’t just one day.) I wondered if perchance this store might still be open—and if it, like most stores specializing in Halloween-themed fare, might now be offering items on sale. I had to make a stopover to see.
I kid you not, the place was called BILLY BOB’S. Of course it was. IN Alabama? Of course it was. Billy Bob’s looked like it had formerly been something else; a warehouse, or a garage. I approached, but almost turned around when I saw, posted on the door, a sign proclaiming that medical masks were not required inside (the State mandate says otherwise, and I wore mine anyway) because “Freedom don’t end where Fear Begins!” or something like that. But the lure of Halloween goodies proved stronger than my revulsion of anything and everything redneck-ish, and I went inside. My love for Halloween was challenged even more when I saw the huge Trump campaign sign hanging on the wall inside. I knew I was not among my own kind here. Dared I to stay? Yes. I dared.
To be fair, the people working at Billy Bob’s couldn’t have been any nicer to me, and they had some great stuff, stuff I hadn’t seen at places like Spirit Halloween or Halloween Express. The prices weren’t bad, either. I’d even go back there again. I’d just keep a low profile, try to remain inconspicuous. As inconspicuous as a guy like me can be, anyway.