The Perks Of Small-Town Celebritydom

Sometimes, being recognized is not all it's cracked up to be. Not my cup of tea. Not my bag. I'm just not that into it. But then an incident occurs that restores my faith in people from my past who might stalk me.

This afternoon, I popped into a newly-remodeled convenience store. The third or fourth incarnation in this location. I've discovered that they have 44 oz. Diet Coke for the same price as the gas station chicken store. And their location and parking lot navigation is more convenient. Go figure!

This was my fifth visit. I strode confidently to the soda bar, grabbed a cup, added a miniscule amount of ice, and commenced to fillin'. I lidded my elixir, snared a straw, and headed up front. Here's where it gets hairy. This place is much more roomy than the gas station chicken store. There are two cash registers, but one is blocked from view by the other one. So I'm not sure whether only one clerk is working, or two. I normally go to the first register if I see someone behind it.

Today, a clerk was removing cans of beer from the plastic rings. I suppose they sell single cans. Not that I would know. Because he looked busy, I stepped to the next register. Another clerk was perched on a stool by the window, eating something. I suppose I interrupted his in-sight lunch break. But he jumped up cheerfully to wait on me. At the same time, the beer-popper said, "She gets the refill price." My cashier rang up my sodie at eighty cents. That's a bargain, by cracky! The regular price is $1.39.

As I left, I caught a good glimpse of the beer-popper. He was a student at Newmentia nigh on four years ago. A good kid. Now a good young adult. I never had him in class, but I had his three brothers. Like a lame lion letting me live for taking a thorn from his paw, he gave me a fifty-nine cent discount on my beverage.

This teacher gig totally rocks!