It Takes a Gas Station Chicken Store to Hair-Raise a Val

I'm not saying I'm Cheers Norm, but I AM a regular at The Gas Station Chicken Store. They don't shout out my name when I enter, because they don't know my name. Sometimes you want to go where not a single person knows your name. The Man Owner greets me, "Hey, Lady!" As does his wife and one of the cashiers. It's good enough for me.

Thursday, I parked T-Hoe over at the side of the parking lot, by the moat that separates The Gas Station Chicken Store from Hick's pharmacy, CeilingReds. I gathered up my correct change, and slithered out T-Hoe's door, over the running board, and onto the blacktop. I don't step down from the running board, because my knees don't like to bend that deeply.

I've been having some pains in the top of my left foot this week, and it was throbbing from the laces over it. I still refuse to wear my Crocs to town! Anyhoo... I put my left hand against the side of T-Hoe, and bumped the heel of my left shoe into the toe of the right shoe. You know, the jolt my left foot against the back of the shoe, maybe relieving some pressure on the top where it hurt.

I took off walking towards the door. The smell of chicken wafted across the gas pump area. Of course it took me a few steps to hit my stride, what with deciding which hurt worse, the left foot or the right knee. I looked up to see one of the clerks leaning against the front wall, on her break, looking at her cell phone. As I got closer, she looked up at me, and said,

"You okay, Babe?"

"I'm fine. Just have a hurt foot right now."

Wasn't that sweet? She was concerned about me! Or maybe she thought I was weaving drunkenly, and she was going to run in and refuse to sell me alcohol. I've bought a bottle or two there over the years, for Hick or Genius at holiday time. However, she was wearing her chicken whites, so I figured she was working in the kitchen this day, not cashiering.

When I stepped inside the store, I noticed that the counter was unmanned. Huh. That was unusual, but sometimes the cashiers have to dart to the back to restock the foam cups. So I continued on past.

"HELLO THERE!"

My hair stood on end, my heart jumped into my throat, and I sucked in air like a healthy-lunged vape-er.

"OH! You scared me!

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I didn't see you there! It was like walking into a Halloween haunted house."

I'm sure the Bearded Guy Clerk had been taking care of business under the counter. Perhaps stocking some scratchers. He's not very tall to begin with, and he was totally invisibly while squatting down. Our conversation continued while I filled my 44 oz Diet Coke. There were no other customers inside.

"Have you ever been in one of those?"

"NO! I don't like stuff like that. My kids went to one at a teacher's house when they were younger, like 8 and 11. The little one wouldn't open his eyes the whole time, and had to be pulled along, holding his dad's hand. The older one was shocked. He said, 'When we came out, Mr. Heartless was up in a tree, throwing baby-doll arms and legs at us!'"

"I went to one, and a guy chased me with a chainsaw!"

"Well... he probably didn't have the chain on it."

"I hope not! He could have fallen on it and cut himself."

Um. That would not have been my biggest safety fear, but okay. I might have learned more, but a dude had the audacity to come in and pay for his gas. Nobody called him by name, either.