Val Suffers Rigorous Mortification

The earth was nearly knocked off its axis this afternoon, my friends, by a faux pas so cataclysmic that Val may never be able to show her face in the gas station chicken store again!

I stopped by to pick up my daily 44 oz Diet Coke. The time was around 1:00, it being the last of my errands that began at 10:30 when I left home. Ahh...the sweet, sweet unsweetened nectar that I live for. My magical elixir. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a small cardboard Pepsi cup sitting under the Diet Coke spigot.

Was there a malfunction? No handwritten sign was taped up. So I moved that Pepsi cup over, pulled a 44 oz foam cup, and began filling my vat with Diet Coke. It looked fine. I took a sip before putting on the lid. Not to scam some extra before paying, but to make sure it wasn't too full, to prevent seepage through the lid as T-Hoe bounced over hill and dale on my dusty trail home. Tasted just right! I didn't see anything wrong on the soda fountain, so I threw away the Pepsi cup. Some ne'er-do-well slob must have quenched his thirst for free. My lid didn't fit right, the rim of the cup being flattened on one side from the the cup holder. So I threw away the lid that cracked, and put on another one.

My timing was just right. The other customer had been taken care of, and the Stern Old Gal Clerk, who was just going off duty, had bought herself a couple of items. She was chatting with the Lady Owner out front of the counter, while the Man Owner manned the register. They were talking about a washing machine malfunction, and subsequent carpet flooding.

I paid, and bought two lottery tickets (won $30), and told the Man Owner my own washing machine malfunction story. Then Stern Old Gal Clerk left, and Lady Owner came over to talk. It was an unusual lull without customers streaming in, or weirdos asking me for booze money. As we were having our gabfest, I'd moved my tickets and cup over, in front of the register, in case somebody came in and wanted to check out, or see the lottery tickets under glass on the counter. As I was chatting, my cup felt unstable. You know how they are so slim at the bottom. I raised my hand up a little for a better grip, to push it back a bit, and

MY THUMB WENT THROUGH THE SIDE!

Oh, the Diet-Coke-manity! Such a catastrophe. The Lady Owner looked down, and it was like slow motion. We both knew what was going on, but we couldn't react. Then she hollered to her husband, "GET THE WASTEBASKET!"

Problem was, that hole was so far down the cup that most of my magical elixir had already escaped. A small pond on the counter, and a larger lake on the floor. Man Owner flipped up the part of the counter that's like a drawbridge, and rushed out with the wastebasket and a roll of paper towels. I picked up some boxes of little cigars and caffeine pills that were being inundated. We wiped them off. I helped swab up the pool on the floor. Then Lady Owner told Man Owner to get the mop. "Funny how the mop fits his hand WAY BETTER here than at home," she said.

We got the spill contained without any other customers encroaching the disaster area. I apologized profusely. "I'm SO embarrassed. I probably won't even be able to show my face in here for...at least a DAY!"

"Oh, this is nothing. We're used to it," said Man Owner as his wife was pulling back the register and directing him to wipe the counter of its Diet-Coke-and-dust slime.

"You didn't see ANY of this, right?" said Woman Owner. Who runs a tight ship, and usually has that place smelling like bleach on days she is there. I fear that heads may roll at this exposure. But at least it's not mine.

"Go get yourself another soda," said Man Owner. Of course I demurred. But when he said it again, I caved. THAT is customer service.

Let the record show that Val is absolutely mortified by her uncouth behavior. If she was a dude, and an actor, and really good-looking, and stalked lusted after adored favored by blog buddy Sioux...her name might be Riggo Mortifson.