You know you're from Kingsport if...

You think the name of the city's largest employer is The Eastman, as in: "Where does he work?" "He works at The Eastman." And "the" pronounced "thuh."

You think S&M and Dope are departments at Eastman. (They were.)

You give directions based on landmarks that no longer exist, but your directions never confuse any other Kingsporter: "From Brooks Circle turn left at Big K, then go past the Garden Basket..."

You haven't pronounced the name Dobyns-Bennett in years, preferring D-B instead.

You call a tractor-trailer a Mason-Dixon truck.

You can negotiate a traffic circle without using your horn or your brakes.

You make snide comments about Johnson City, but eat out there at least once a week.

You think the rest of the world knows what a Pal's hot dog is.

You make an emergency run to Food City for bread and milk at the first forecast of snow.

And park in the fire lane.

Your last 10 vacations were to Myrtle Beach.

When people ask what school you went to, they don't mean UT, Clemson or ETSU, they mean D-B, Lynn View, Ketron or Sullivan (or if you are younger, D-B, South, North or Central.)

You have never been to a NASCAR race, but have a 3 on your truck.

You have never eaten ham that wasn't fried and country.

You refer to Stone Drive as the Golden Mile. Or the Super.

You can get anywhere in the Tri-Cities, but you don't know the Numbers of any roads.

You call them the Old Johnson City Highway, the New Johnson City Highway, the Super Highway, the John B. Dennis, the Interstate.

Your summer weekend wardrobe consists of a drawer full of Fun Fest T-shirts in assorted colors and designs.

All of them too tight. (In fall and winter it's all orange all the time.)

You still can't pronounce Weyerhaeuser, preferring to call it the old Mead plant. Likewise for Quebecor, which you refer to as the old Kingsport Press.

You know who Bobby Dodd was but don't know who John B. Dennis or Ross N. Robinson were.

Your office closes early the day of the Science Hill football game.

When introduced to another Kingsport native, you spend the first five minutes of the conversation trying to figure out how you are connected. "What year did you graduate from D-B? Don't you have a brother who used to date...? I think your uncle used to cut my hair. Do you go to First Broad Street or First Presbyterian?"

You think the whole world drinks sweet tea.

You moved away after high school and have lived in another city twice as long as you lived here, but when someone asks where you're from, you don't hesitate: "Kingsport, Tennessee!"