Road trips bring numerous opportunities to learn about yourself and the world. I tend to prefer interesting things to happen rather than good things, and at one cold gas station in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, I got my fill of interesting to last the entire winter.
- Dodge, Duck, Dick, Dive, and Dodge
Besides gas, I imagine the main purpose for a gas station to exist in the middle of nowhere is to release your bowels. Unfortunately, I have not kept a log or signed my name at each bathroom where my bodily functions interrupted the building’s plumbing. Where as a cat always knows where he marked his territory, my attempts are carried to the ocean most times.
My new method for remembering where I’ve erupted is if another guy decides to tuck his greasy weapon in long after he finishes his business. I don’t know why, but there’s an epidemic of man-children who wait until they reach the sink to tame their beast. Perhaps it’s to warn new bathroom patrons that no penis bigger than theirs is capable of sprinkling the toilet seat like they did. More likely than not, they forgot that their anatomy does not work like a retractable dog leash by pressing a button. Thanks to the gentleman at the Wilkesboro gas station for scaring a new method for remembering where I pissed last deep into my psyche.
2. People don’t understand how to people-watch in gas stations.
It’s as simple as parking it in front of your bedroom window, but people-watchers of the gas station-variety find this concept foreign. We’re in an enclosed space surrounded by snacks and tobacco products, yet they treat it like we’re at a funeral.
If I’m trying to decide which two Pepsi products to purchase in order to get them for $2.50, it shouldn’t feel like a PhD is examining my behavior through a one way mirror. I apologize for tattling on scientists who conduct their research at urine-stained gas stations in the middle of nowhere, but I am not dedicating my body to science just because it takes 10 minutes to decide how I’ll take a dose of diabetes.
3. The cashier no longer cares about the customer.
Gas station attendants have a straight-forward job description that fails to mention the number of deadbeats they have to put up with to earn a paycheck. It’s no wonder they keep their shelves stocked with junk food and cigarettes: to kill the customer for a paycheck.
There were 4 people in front of me at the counter; each and every one of them bought cigarettes, chips or candy, and a soda. After ringing up the first customer, the cashier’s face was painted with concern as if she was responsible for their ailments. By the third and fourth rude customer, that look dissipated. She was relieved to know that their poor diet choices would render them rude customers who couldn’t leave their hospital beds. I think she hated me, too.
4. I am just as unobservant as I was when I graduated college.
My teenage years taught me to zero in on the development of a juicy pimple, but I have yet to learn which gas station has cheaper gas in my adult years. The gas station directly across from the one I stop at will always have lower gas prices, even if they only differ by a few pennies. If I had known any better, 50+ more stops at random gas stations would have saved me enough pennies to buy a goldfish – a goldfish that will probably die in three days anyway. I’m not good at being an adult.
My Seven Devils 