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This morning I woke up way too early. I actually felt part of the pressure headache hit, like an icepick sliding in just above the left eye brow. And with the pain came the remembrance that the plant lunch truck would not be on site to service me with life giving caffeine. Damn.
The place I usually get gas has a respectable quicky mart that I usually don't visit because, well, I'm getting gas. I didn't need gas, I needed liquid stimulants, so I braved the mart. I know I looked like an idiot with an armful of drinks, Monsters and max, Mt Dew for a slow burn and water to take the edge off. I dropped my booty in front of the cash out guy and barely noticed him, I'd been distracted by something shiny.
Well, actually, it was round and doughy and somewhat bagel like. A bagel sounded real good.
They guy acknowledged me with some kind semi rhetorical question like "how's it going". "Well, it's a little early," I said and got no response. I immediately realized than even though it wasn't even 5:30 this guy had probably been there for hours and was simply unimpressed. Right, small talk before sun rise is usually bad.
The guy then said something about "new year soon, hope it's better than the last one..." and some other small talky stuff as he rung up my java juice.
"I bet you say that every year," I said brightly, and he was off.
"Yeah, I guess so. Always seems that way. No, wait, there was this one year..." I wasn't really paying attention, trying to find a winning bagel from the basket. The first one had a meaningless sharpy mark that looked like an L. Lox? Ewww. No, there were lots of sharpy Bs. The L and a few of it's cousins must be Cs. If C was cream cheese then it looked a little parsimonious. I like more that a mere schmere when it comes to cream cheese. I settled on a safe looking B.
I put it one the counter, still only half listening to the on going analysis of years gone by, when I hear this gem. "It's a B. B and C. B is fer butter, C is fer cream cheese. They're different. Yes, B and C are different things. Not the same at all. Not at all." There was no irony in the tone, only grave commentary, as my "B" was studied and tallied. For just a second, I thought I was an extra in the delete scenes of Forest Gump.
For the first time I really studied my check out guy. He was a white guy with a weathered face, could be in his 50s or 60s. The face was covered in what looked like two days worth of salt and pepper stubble. He was lean with a head that seemed stuck, cocked to the side, under a washed out ball cap. He looked like he would be more at home behind a John Deere than a quicky mart counter.
He gave back my change, now talking on to no one in particular about New Year's and parties, but some people don't go to parties, oh no... I realized I'd just purchased breakfast from Slingblade! For some reason this amused me greatly and I wished Billy Bob a good day, though I couldn't tell for sure if he heard or cared.
The place I usually get gas has a respectable quicky mart that I usually don't visit because, well, I'm getting gas. I didn't need gas, I needed liquid stimulants, so I braved the mart. I know I looked like an idiot with an armful of drinks, Monsters and max, Mt Dew for a slow burn and water to take the edge off. I dropped my booty in front of the cash out guy and barely noticed him, I'd been distracted by something shiny.
Well, actually, it was round and doughy and somewhat bagel like. A bagel sounded real good.
They guy acknowledged me with some kind semi rhetorical question like "how's it going". "Well, it's a little early," I said and got no response. I immediately realized than even though it wasn't even 5:30 this guy had probably been there for hours and was simply unimpressed. Right, small talk before sun rise is usually bad.
The guy then said something about "new year soon, hope it's better than the last one..." and some other small talky stuff as he rung up my java juice.
"I bet you say that every year," I said brightly, and he was off.
"Yeah, I guess so. Always seems that way. No, wait, there was this one year..." I wasn't really paying attention, trying to find a winning bagel from the basket. The first one had a meaningless sharpy mark that looked like an L. Lox? Ewww. No, there were lots of sharpy Bs. The L and a few of it's cousins must be Cs. If C was cream cheese then it looked a little parsimonious. I like more that a mere schmere when it comes to cream cheese. I settled on a safe looking B.
I put it one the counter, still only half listening to the on going analysis of years gone by, when I hear this gem. "It's a B. B and C. B is fer butter, C is fer cream cheese. They're different. Yes, B and C are different things. Not the same at all. Not at all." There was no irony in the tone, only grave commentary, as my "B" was studied and tallied. For just a second, I thought I was an extra in the delete scenes of Forest Gump.
For the first time I really studied my check out guy. He was a white guy with a weathered face, could be in his 50s or 60s. The face was covered in what looked like two days worth of salt and pepper stubble. He was lean with a head that seemed stuck, cocked to the side, under a washed out ball cap. He looked like he would be more at home behind a John Deere than a quicky mart counter.
He gave back my change, now talking on to no one in particular about New Year's and parties, but some people don't go to parties, oh no... I realized I'd just purchased breakfast from Slingblade! For some reason this amused me greatly and I wished Billy Bob a good day, though I couldn't tell for sure if he heard or cared.