New Yorkers think they know everything. They think they got it good up here. They think they’re smarter than we are. They think they won THE WAR, and if you’re a Southerner, you know which war I’m talking about.
Which all just goes to show that they don’t know Jack.
And if you try to tell them something they don’t know they say, “getouttahere,” which literally translated means, “remove yourself from the premises.” Figuratively, New Yorkers say “getouttahere” when they don’t believe what it is your trying to tell them.
For example, when I say that Alabamians can read, write, and wear shoes, New Yorkers say “getouttahere.” This irritates me, so I’ve stopped trying to tell New Yorkers anything. Which, as it turns out, is much more fun than talking to them.
This week in New York, a cow escaped from a truck and ran around the city.
Would this be news in Andalusia? No. Convict cows aren’t that unusual. But here in New York, every major news channel was blathering about the cow on the lam.
I was tempted to tell them how to capture the cow and be done with the whole bovine bedlam. But then, they probably would have told me to “getouttahere,” so instead I watched.
Now I don’t know much about roping a cow, and for the sake of accuracy, I will tell you that the heifer was really a calf that probably weighed somewhere around 400 pounds.
But I do know enough about cows to avoid some of the more obvious mistakes made in the great New York City roundup.
Apparently, the four-legged menace was public enemy number one. So there were police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, camera crews, and curious onlookers. In my experience with cows (which granted, has heretofore been limited to yelling “MOO!” as I drive by them in towns like Burnt Corn and Chigger, Alabama) I have noted that they do not like people, especially if the people are making noise, taking pictures, playing radios, yelling “getouttahere,” and flashing lights with loud sirens.
I also know that trying to hold a rodeo with a bunch of police cars and motorcycles instead of horses is an unusual roundup technique.
Once that didn’t work for the N.Y.P.D., I noticed that they began to chase the cow on foot. I might have told the policemen that cows run faster than people, but then what do I know?
They did manage to corner the cow eventually, and I would hazard that the hamburger-to-be was slightly alarmed at the sight of 40 policemen yelling “Torro! Torro!” and inching closer and closer.
Then the cow made a valiant break for it. I might have told the policeman who tried to “catch” the cow that his idea was not a good one. I wonder if the word “stampede” would have meant anything to him. At any rate, I don’t think he’ll try that again.
Nor do I think that the other two policemen who grabbed the bovine by her hind legs will ever try to pick up a cow like that again. Go figure.
Throughout the whole ordeal, the cow, apparently from New Jersey, kept mooing–which Thomasville, roughly translated means, “getouttahere.”
—Morgan Murphy