The gas station chicken store is turning out to be a hotbed of social commentary. Only yesterday, I decried the lack of manners in today's youth, and today you are getting an eyeful of another self-absorbed late-20-something.
I was already in the gas station chicken store on Sunday, filling my 44 oz cup at the Diet Coke dispenser. Their magical elixir has been especially delicious of late. I had planned to get one at Orb K for half the price, but I just don't know how to quit the Diet Coke at the gas station chicken store.
So there I was, taking a sip and topping off, securing my plastic lid, wondering if the guy waiting at the chicken counter was going to get his order and beat me to the register. I don't like to waste any time getting home with my beverage to start a long afternoon of sipping. The chicken guy didn't beat me, but a new customer did.
Jumpy came in and looked around like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing. Obviously not a regular. I could see out the front window that he had parked near T-Hoe, and had a dog in the back of his crew cab sticking its head out the window. Jumpy started to pay, then said, "Wait a minute!" He walked across the counter area and grabbed two more short bottles of energy supplement from a display right in front of the chicken warming case. Three! Four! Then he went back to the register and stood over on the side regulars don't stand at, right by the door, by the lottery ticket scanner and PowerBall ticket dispenser. He paid with plastic.
The clerk was the short old lady. Not to be confused with the tall old lady who has been there longer, and is 10 times as cranky. This old lady just takes everything in stride, but suffers no fools. She got a bag for Jumpy's energy supplements, and thanked him.
"Wait. Can't I get cash back?"
"You could have. If you'd told me before I punched it in. I can't go back once the transaction is done."
"Huh. I didn't know you were punching the wrong buttons." Jumpy tried to stare her down.
Clerky was having none of it. It didn't faze her. How dare he imply that SHE had done something amiss as she rang up his purchase, the purchase he made difficult by stopping in the middle and adding to. She held his gaze until Jumpy looked away. She took his yakkin' and kept on rackin' up the sales. She turned to me. Not takin' his bait. Like a wily old smallmouth bass, she avoided being fished in. Clerky gave the stinkeye to the plastic gallon jug of tea sitting on the counter. Not mine. The chicken guy's.
"I have the soda. And I'd like a Millionaire Riches ticket."
"Is that all?"
I gave Clerky correct change. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a button-pusher. No siree, Bob! The gas station chicken store clerks are my bread and butter. And chicken and magical elixir and tickets too, by cracky! No way am I going to irritate them!
Jumpy must have noticed the sign that said "Cash back in amount of purchase only, not over $50." So he added on the extra energy supplements in order to get more cash. I guess that little plan backfired.
Being denied his rightful scene-making verbal assault on Clerky, he shook his head and made his exit. I wonder where else he had to go, and how much he had to buy, to get cash on a Sunday afternoon.