Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Hating Florida is our most important hobby, episode two

Meet Hurschelle.

I mean, you've seen him before. But allow me to tell you his story.

You see, Hurschelle was born in the summer of 1980 in Fort Lauderdale to Gertrude and Lowell Pendergrass. Gertrude and Lowell met while working at a University of Florida dining hall in the mid '70s. They drank too much Stroh's one night after Wheel of Fortune and Lowell lost his pants. Nine months later Hurschelle Pendergrass was born on the same day that Herschel Walker did 2000 sit ups before driving to Athens GA one morning to meet a Coach Dooley in the pre-dawn hours outside of McWhorter Hall.

Somehow Hurschelle never made his parents proud. On the day in 1982 when Georgia's tailback carried the ball 47 times to beat Florida, Hurschelle got so excited by the radio broadcast that he threw up the beef jerky and cheerwine his parents had been feeding him all day then promptly uttered his first word - "Daw!"

From that moment on he became more and more distant from his parents. For one, they were too wrapped up in their new careers in pest control management to pay much attention to Hurschelle. And two, he never seemed to fully grasp the concept of not wetting the bed, which you can imagine became quite frustrating for parents with a collective IQ just north of 110. It was all cause for much family discord and is likely the reason Lowell never watched Wheel of Fortune ever again.

Still, Hurschelle went on to an amazing high school career as the local high school mascot and parking lot monitor. He was hated by everyone yet continually yearned to fit in. A few months from graduation he finally gained the attention of the lunchroom ladies when he shaved the name "Wuerffel" in the side of his scalp. Except, he spelled it "Wurlfull". Nevertheless, the sight of it made the tater tots attendant so dizzy she gave Hurschelle an extra two whole tots.

Despite Hurschelle's extra-curricular strides, he wasn't able to obtain admission into the Univ. of Florida. Instead he begged his dad for a recommendation and eventually was able to land a job as a dish attendant in the same dining hall where his parents met.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. As Hurschelle was ridiculed daily by the douchebags that wore the same #7 jersey that he wore. Daily. Yet, his campus ID allowed him two employee tickets each season and he made the most of it each time, always hoping his dad would acknowledge him as a good, honest, jort wearing mullet king.

And still he failed. Continually. Until one day in 2003, when he attended the Florida-San Jose State season opener and got a picture of Chris Leak sitting on the bench. His dad had it framed and set it on the Zenith in the den. The irony of it is that the picture was incidental. Hurschelle was attempting to photograph a Dotted Skipper that had landed on the Gatorade cooler next to Leak. It would have made quite an artifact in his butterfly collection.

Photography is a hobby, not a profession, for Hurschelle. When you see him a week from Saturday, ask him if he can use his Nokia 3210 to take a selfie with you. Should make for a fun few minutes while waiting in line for the port-o-let.