I thought of the title first, hate it when that happens. Hate's extreme. I thought of the title first, don't really like it when that happens. Never mind, hate's better.

I was making a left down there on the street where the gas station is that has two left turn lanes. The one where diesel handles are black and regular's green. That's something I can't get used to, too, two left turn lanes stacked on top of each other like that.

Today I saw something questionable like three 2's. Clever advertising disguised as a pair of yard sale signs but the clever part was I couldn't read the damn things. I saw dude on the other side of the two left turn lanes which are still confusing as shit by the way and shouldn't be there. He put two fluorescent signs in the ground, a green one and a pink one, they're at the driveway entrance next to the gas station with diesel pump handles that are black instead of green.

I'm too far away to see what they say. I pulled into the driveway to get a closer look but the pink one didn't say anything, it's a decoy. The green one might've said something in pencil, if it did I couldn't see it. Now I'm forced to continue down this narrow driveway I've never been on in search of whatever these signs that don't say anything lured me to. Genius advertising!

It's a food truck. Deep South Fish Shack it's called and, as fate would have it, DanDays loves fish so it didn't occur to me I wasn't hungry. Deep South means all the good stuff like crawdads, catfish, collared greens, fried okra, good stuff.

Something you either neglected to remember or don't know because I neglected to tell you because not everything I do goes public is my idea of fishing is the fish monger on the corner of Kingston Pike and Cedar. I'm more of a boat driver guy than a fishing line knot tying caster guy. Anyone tuned in seeing Whiting Basket on a lunch menu for the first time, I know how you feel.

"Wtf is a Whiting Basket and what's a Whiting Dinner" said no one to the black people working in and around the food truck. But I didn't know what it was! In case you're new here, I'm white like apply 45 sunblock every half hour and completely oblivious Whiting is a fish—trout to be specific. I know that now. I know what catfish is, iheart catfish! Grilled, fried, baked, I don't care but I don't know how deep this Deep South thing runs and for all I know Whiting Basket is an inside joke.

"Whad'ya have darlin? Hope'n'ya brought yer appetite."

'I wasn't hungry until I saw fried okra. Those pink and green signs out there are genius.'

"Com'again??" She squinted with one eye and gave me a post-stroke type smile where only half her face moved like she bit into a tart grape. She's confused, dammit! I didn't mean to do that but I know how to seize an opportunity when I see it—timing's critical.

'What's a Whiting?'

In her southern hospitality havin kind hearted and soft natured voice, "a 'white sign,' where d'ya see thayat?"

Shit! She didn't hear me. I knew I shouldn't have asked! There's a generator and music running next to the thing and I already felt awkward asking the question. I should've just ordered the damn catfish! I already confused the Deep South shit out of her when I said signs make me hungry and now this, 'white sign,' that isn't what I said.

"You mean the menu hon, it's white?"

LOL! I couldn't contain myself like not laughing when she milks Stiffler's prostate in Road trip, I laughed out loud. She heard me laugh, generator or no generator, that was funny. Now I got both ladies inside the truck so confused they're grasping for clarity like Trump supporters desperately cling to a loser. There's three or four fellas around back monitoring fuel levels, frying okra and fish who curiously poked their heads around the corner. Everyone's eager to know what 45 SPF dude who's been taking pictures for his blog the whole time meant by white sign.

'Whi-ting, Whiting, what's a Whiting?'

"A Whiting?!" L O L! They enjoyed that one. "Honey yain't from here is ya? I thought you said 'a white sign' n I ain'bout to go'der mmkay, I's fixin to ask you da same thang! Whiting is a trout."

Ah! Had I known that we wouldn't be hurdling this misunderstanding right now and I woulda ordered the trout, 'may I please have a whiting basket then with fried okra?'

"Give'us bout 6 minutes sugar. Y'anty thin to drink w'that?"

'No thank you, I have a water in the car.' I wasn't hungry but I know better than to pass up a deep fried trout from a Deep South food truck in the Deep South.

All that for $8!

Bargain at twice the price! Think about it. Where else can you order lunch while cutting tension with sweat in the indisputably divided southern United States over a misunderstanding due to the drowning sound of an idling generator when your only guilt is not knowing wtf a Whiting is? Add to that you love fish and everyone involved enjoyed a good laugh, a good suspense, genuine concern and a complimentary side of emotion in under six minutes. Made to order.

And how was it you ask, 'like woah! I answer.' Put it this way: Blog material. That breaded, deep fried Whiting in the Deep South was so good I backed down the driveway while they fixed me up to snap the driveway and approach photo featured in the beginning of this article.

Opened it up when I got to the house, added each condiment as recommended cuz if that's how it's intended to be consumed then consume it like that I shall. One bite, that's it, sold! So savory I documented about every other bite and now this.

_{Happy Memorial Day United States and world! This weekend marks the 80th anniversary of the time the U.S Navy saved my grandfathers life. He was in the Pacific Ocean on a submarine when his appendix ruptured. They surfaced immediately and b-lined for Hawaii where medical successfully removed it. He was on the operating table when each of his crew mates lost their life. His submarine succumb to enemy attack at Pearl Harbor shortly after dropping him off. Now I do things like this each time the last weekend in May rolls around cuz had it not been for that appendix...}