Ladies and Gentlemen, Turnip Seed is Dead

Turnip Seed, They All Have A Story To Tell

The only time I met Turnip Seed, I was standing at the coffee cart, making a fresh cup and staring out the window. Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Bill were behind me, jawing with Carl. I watched as a wheezing farm truck, caked with rust, rolled to a stop in the pawnshop parking lot.

"Oh shit," said Cheryl, "that's Turnip Seed."

Uncle Bill made a dash towards the backroom, shouting over his shoulder.

"Carl, don't tell that sonuvabitch that I'm here," he said.

Turnip Seed opened the door of the truck, releasing an avalanche of sticky plastic cups, used Kleenex, and losing scratch-offs into the parking lot.

"Carl, you're gonna have to talk to Turnip Seed. If I smell him, I'll throw up, and I just ate a hot dog. DO NOT take a pawn from him, he's the biggest thief in Nacogdoches county."

And with that Cheryl bolted to her hiding place, behind the refrigerator.

I stood there, coffee forgotten, thinking, "Who the fuck is Turnip Seed?"

Turnip struggled against the tide of garbage, in an effort to slam his door closed.

That is when I smelled him.

There are no words to properly describe the stench of Turnip Seed, but I can say that it made my eyes water, and my stomach heaved.

I ran to the back corner, and turned towards the counter. I was eager to watch the action, but only from a safe distance.

Carl held his breath.

I looked at Turnip Seed. His face was deeply lined with wrinkles, and grime was evident in every crease. His clothes were stiff with muck, and his toothless mouth puckered over his gums. He hobbled to the counter, grunting with the effort.

Carl wiped the tears from his eyes and shouted, "Turnip Seed, what can I help you with?"

"Gwunza pawn sumpin' " Turnip Seed grunted.

"Sorry Turnip, but the boss lady says I can't make you a loan."

Turnip grunted again, and hobbled back to his truck, kicking garbage as he went.

"He's gone," Carl shouted.

Cheryl and Bill emerged from their hiding spots. Cheryl immediately grabbed the air freshener, and emptied the bottle into the air. It did nothing to mask the odor.

"That is one nasty ass sonuvabitch," said Uncle Bill.

"Bill, tell Rebel the story of Turnip Seed and the truck," Cheryl said.

"Alright," Uncle Bill replied. "Back when Turnip's kids were little, we got a call that there was a truck on Highway 21, stopping and starting, blocking up the traffic. We pulled him over. I walk up to Turnip's window, and I asked him, 'Turnip, why do you keep stopping and starting your truck?', so Turnip says, 'Me and my boy ran out of gas, and we're trying to get home.' Well, I look in the cab, and there ain't no boy, Turnip is alone. So I says, 'Turnip, where is your boy?' Turnip looked at me, and said, 'He's under the hood, pouring gas in the carburetor.' So, Rebel, we open up the hood, and there's his boy, on top of the engine, a little jar of gas in his hands. It was the damndest thing I ever seen," he concluded with a chuckle.

Turnip Seed died yesterday, aged 86. Cheryl found his obituary this morning. Most of our customers were abuzz with the news by lunch.

Bill R., my favorite customer, came to visit this afternoon. As soon as we made eye contact, Bill shouted, "Hey, I guess you heard about Turnip Seed."

"Yeah, I did."

"I cain't believe that he was 86," Bill said.

A man inspecting a shotgun perked up.

Bill continued. "I think the closest old Turnip ever got to taking a bath was falling in the Angelina River."

The shotgun man approached, laughing. "Hell, that wouldn't do the job. A bunch of folks would have to scrub him with brushes for a couple of days to get part of that nasty off. When I worked over at the service station, me an' the ol' boy I worked with would just about have a fist fight when Turnip Seed pulled in to the parking lot. Neither one of us wanted to get inside his truck."

We all laughed.

Cheryl came over, and told a story about watching Turnip swerve into on-coming traffic, nearly causing 3 head-on collisions, all in a two mile stretch.

"Oh yeah," Bill said. "He was a mean sumbitch, and one of his boys was meaner than a snake. I don't think the other one even knows he's here."

Soon, a group of six gathered around the table, swapping tall tales about the deceased.

Bill won the contest when he told of finding what he thought was a dead Turnip Seed on the side of the road.

"He was laying there, his mouth open, flys buzzing in and out of it. When I got closer, I saw his tallywhacker sticking out of his pants. I thought, 'This sumbitch is dead.' Then, ol' Turnip sat up, real quick like, and scared the shit out of me. He was just drunk."

He was just drunk. I hope they put it on his headstone.