I stopped to get some a beer and some bbq at a shack on the grounds. They took my name so that they could let me know when my food was ready. I was standing there in my flip flops, Austin Chronicle Hot Sauce Festival t-shirt, and shorts, checking out the guys in their actually used cowboy boots and hats thinking that I had finally seen someone in Texas who needed to wear a cowboy hat, waiting for my taco when they hollered at the guy in line in front that his food was ready.

I shit you not, his name was Waylon.

I also heard a couple of great stories from my mom when she lived in central Texas in the late 60/early 70s, including this one. When my dad moved down from Vancouver, he moved into a trailer. At some point, he arranged with the local Lone Star delivery guy to add my dad to his route and deliver beer directly to his trailer. My dad had built a small deck with a crawl space underneath it out front of his trailer. The system was simple. He would leave his empties under the deck. The delivery guy would and leave as many fresh cases as there were empties.