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“About 25 years ago,” said the man in front of me in his gentle Georgia drawl, “a friend of my wife’s was driving through North Carolina. She was having some car trouble, so she pulled in one of those 24-hour Exxon stations to get some help.”
“She had to help the attendant open the hood of her car because she said that he was sort of a ‘Gomer Pyle’ type.”
“So the attendant looked down at the engine, and then looked at her and said, ‘Lady, what kind of car is this?’ ”
” A BMW” she replied.
” A what? ” asked Gomer.
” A BMW. ”
There was a long pause, and then the attendant asked, “And how do you spell that?”