Are you sitting down? This news might discombobulate those with equilibrium issues. I don't want to be responsible for any broken hips. Grab onto something sturdy.
A man in the gas station chicken store let me go ahead of him in line!
Here! Get a whiff of these smelling salts. That's right. A man let me go ahead of him in the check-out line. The store was full to overflowing. Sunday brings in a lot of chicken traffic. I know better that to try to score some tasty gas-station chicken on a Sunday at noon. I had only dashed in for my 44 oz. Diet Coke. The chicken line meandered back toward the soda fountain. Thank goodness they were only blocking the Pepsi machine. I fountained out my 44 ounces, and had to turn and go up the candy aisle to get back to the front.
I hate it when people do that. They get all out of order for paying. That's as bad as when people come in the door and think they can butt in to pay for their gas. I knew my place. Two ladies had to finish, and an older dude was after them. He just happened to be in the actual line, while I was all cattywompus due to the chicken waiters. I turned my body toward him. Not in some inappropriate come-hither presentation, but to show that I did not expect to pay next. That I was waiting to step up after he did. Animals have not cornered the market on body language.
Older Dude grimaced at me when it was his turn. I did not step up. "Go ahead, I'm after you."
"Is that all you got?" Spoken with a gruffness befitting his shaved bald head with a twelve-o'clock shadow. He eyed my magnificent Diet Coke specimen with suspicion. To see if I had any lottery tickets lurking behind the foam blue-and-white cup.
"This is it."
"Thank you. I even have correct change!" I forked over the cash and headed for the door. Val is an efficiency expert when it comes to her 44 oz. Diet Coke.