A-Bolting and Quite Jolting

...continued from yesterday.

Now, the rest of the story. The people of Walmart are revolting, the people of Save A Lot are a-bolting, and the people of the gas station chicken store are quite jolting.

Happy to survive the auto impasse on the Walmart parking lot, I headed for the gas station chicken store for a 44 oz. Diet Coke. Pardon me for titling my tale out of sequence. I must have been in a state of befuddlement last evening from the strange happenings.

The original plan was to snag some chicken along with the soda. One look into the glass case changed my mind. I did not intend my 44 oz. Diet Coke to wash down leathery chicken jerky. The fowl looked as though it was left from the lunch rush. Yesterday. So I stepped up to the counter to pay for my drink.

A local dude had popped through the door while I was ogling the breasts and thighs. He stopped short on the other side of the register. The cashier was the short jolly one, finishing up a story for the previous customer about how she was excited about getting her first grandchild any day now. I don't hold it against her that she looked to be in her early thirties. That's how folks do things here in Backroads.

Local Dude transferred his weight from boot to boot, like a toddler needing a potty break. He could not stand being outside the bullseye of attention. Jolly smiled at him. "Are you gonna pay for that gas this time?"

"Yeah, I'm payin'." Local Dude practically wriggled under his flannel shirt like an adolescent dog playing hard-to-get with a fetched stick.

"I don't see any money there."

"I'm using my credit card. Here. I'll just flop it out on the counter so you can get a good look at it."

Oh, dear. That's the state of men here in Backroads. That's a pick-up line. Sure to attract females like green bottle flies to a cow patty. I was relieved that the severe head bun spinster cashier opened the other register and took my money. I felt like I needed a shower.

The Pony awaited in the Tahoe. We cruised through the three stoplights and toward outer Backroadia. A maroon van whipped out of the Save A Lot road in front of us. A maroon van that somebody had paid a lot less than $1000 for. I had to slam on the brakes, wasting all that momentum I had built up after the light. Why anybody would be in such a hurry to leave Save A Lot is beyooooond me. Unless they had shoplifted some 5-for-$19.99 meats.

That van took off like a bat out of Not-Heaven. Then it slowed. I caught up and had to brake again. Vanny took off. AND THE PASSENGER THREW GARBAGE OUT THE WINDOW! Seriously. Like some hillbilly James Bond with a weapon to slow me down. It looked like White Castle hamburger cartons spilling out of a white paper sack. Lucky for me, I was coasting to save gas, so it didn't hit my windshield, but was treaded by my tires.

As quickly as it had appeared, Vanny vanished. Well, not so much vanished as turned left after signaling for three roads, onto a pig trail that led to what used to be a trailer, with the outer metal ripped off, showing insulation. I didn't even know anybody lived there.

Maybe they don't.

With this kind of excitement crammed into one evening...I might as well live in the city.