Yesterday after my belated weekly Walmart shopping trip and encounter with a creeper at the bank, I stopped by Orb K for a 44 oz Diet Coke. That's because the gas station chicken store was out on the weekend, and I was not overly optimistic that the man owner knew how to fix it. He usually works on Mondays. Orb K was out of Diet Coke one day last week also, but I figured they'd have theirs up and running by now.
I didn't have a chance to find out, because as I was waiting for a white car to back out so I could use that parking spot, a black convertible started backing out of a space right beside me. And KEPT backing! I thought for sure the dude could see T-Hoe sitting there big as life. And I'm shocked a sporty convertible such as that did not have a backup beeper. Still, dude kept backing. I couldn't pull forward because of the white car coming out, and I couldn't back up because that would result in the sporty black convertible ramming my driver's door instead of T-Hoe's rear flank, behind the passenger door. I watched, spellbound, in the side mirror. That sporty black convertible kept coming!
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear, you know! And that sporty black convertible appeared inches away from T-Hoe. So I honked! The sporty black convertible jerked to a sudden halt. Dude turned his head around. White Car had straightened and was heading toward us, so I had room to move forward. I looped to the right, around the 20-or-so gas pumps, and went back to exit the lot. Not even gonna deal with it.
I headed for the gas station chicken store. Nabbed my favorite parking spot. Counted out correct change. Stepped in the door. And saw the piece of paper still taped to the Diet Coke spigot. Ding-dang-dong-it! Diet Cokeless after a trying day! I've sampled Casey's Diet Coke before, and am not a fan. Just like my mom swore by McDonald's Diet Coke, I find it off-putting. And don't get me started on Dairy Queen's. It tastes like they mix Pine Sol with it. No way was I going across the street to the drive-thru liquor store. No siree, Bob! So I headed up toward the dead-mouse-smelling post office end of town, to the BP gas station convenience mart.
Let the record show that I've been in there twice now. Don't really care for their Diet Coke or their personnel. But the sign they had taped to their counter made me chuckle:
DUE TO RISING TEMPERATURES
WE WILL NOT BE ACCEPTING
BOOB, UNDERPANTS, OR SOCK MONEY