Wednesday I brewed up a cauldron of chili, which put me late getting to Walmart, which put me later getting to the Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir. The local high school had just let out, and a local factory. The GSCS is more like a casino with its clientele. No young whippersnappers in there. Which is not to say it wasn't busy.
The line was back to the soda fountain. I swear, I don't know why people have to write checks in a convenience store. But even that is quicker than using plastic, since the card-readers seem to take forever. Forever and a day. Not that I have anywhere to go. But I was eager to imbibe my 44 oz Diet Coke, and to round up some lunch.
I was fifth in line. Ahead of me was a 40-something dude in a black leather jacket. In front of him was a 50-something woman buying a six-pack of bottled beer. Probably a teacher, heh, heh. In front of her had been a gal asking for two hard packs of Marlboros. And the gas-buying check writer.
Anyhoo...while the afternoon alcoholic was paying, I noticed something drop to the floor. It must have come from Leather Jacket. Ooh! It was a folded-up $20 bill! I was not fast enough to stomp my foot on top of it and declare, "Hey! I just dropped a twenty!" Nope. I was fresh from a 1.5 hour excursion around Walmart's perimeter. From deli to soda to paper goods to greeting cards to toys to Christmas in the garden shop. I felt like a sweet potato balancing on two toothpicks. In fact, I set my 44oz Diet Coke on the chicken counter, and leaned on it to take a partial load off.
As I was looking at that twenty, Leather Jacket bent over to pick it up. He was also clad in jeans and a brown leather belt. Well. I did not see London, I did not see France, nor any sign of underpants! I don't know Leather Jacket's profession, but I'm guessing it's PLUMBER.
Let the record show that the GSCS does not sell brain bleach. Nor eye-gougers. At least Leather Jacket didn't have an ample rumpus.
Sheesh! If I didn't know better, I might think he was some kind of weirdo who goes around throwing twenties on the floor, so he can force people to inspect his crack. Nobody's getting hooked on THAT crack! Take my word for it.
Oh, Val, what can I say? Your adventures in the GSCS go over the top.
ReplyDeleteI wish my eyes had not gone over the top of that guy's sagging jeans!
Delete"My eyes, my eyes". Maybe he is a male "dancer" and didn't want to get completely dressed on his break. Or, maybe he was wearing thongs?
ReplyDeleteHe was fitter than the average pipe-fitter. Maybe he WAS a "dancer" and not a plumber. I prefer not to dwell on such a scenario.
DeleteCrack is whack.
ReplyDeleteI didn't want to see an afternoon moon.
DeleteAahh!! My eyes! my eyes!
ReplyDeleteWhat is it about men and low slung jeans anyway? Do they not realise how much personal acreage they are showing other people?
At least he didn't have a tramp stamp. Or an unmanicured lawn sprouting out of there. Not that I spent so much time memorizing the details, of course.
DeleteThe excitement you must live through for a diet coke. I just drive to Micky D's in my jammies.
ReplyDeleteNo judgment on the jammies, but it's hard to find pennies when you don't get out of the car!
DeleteHow can you drink that stuff??? There's more flavor in LaCroix, the preferred beverage of my snooty son Genius. I think it's false advertising to call it a "flavored" water.
My mom loved McDonald's Diet Coke. Too watery for me. I'll live life on the edge to procure my fix at the Gas Station Chicken Store.
You could have slid your credit card through that crack and said,
ReplyDelete"I'll remove the charge for 20 bucks."
NO! I'll never look at my credit card the same way again!
Delete