Judge Hillbilly Mom Gives The Jury And The Executioner The Day Off

Last Thursday, as Farmer H and I were heading toward the Missouri Lottery office in the city to cash in my big scratcher winner, we stopped to cash in some smaller ones for casino money. I most always cash in my tickets at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Farmer H most always gets gas at the Casey's two doors down. He said he wasn't making two stops, so he pulled up to the pumps at the Gas Station Chicken Store while I went in. He was coming in after pumping, to pay. He always uses the debit card, and they don't have the old-fashioned pumps set up for that. I always pay cash, and I don't buy my gas at the Gas Station Chicken Store, so I don't know how their card thingy works.

When Farmer H came out, he stuck a bunch of red tickets in my face.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but I'm NOT your personal servant! You can lay those down like a normal person! Just like a typical man. You have something in your hand you don't want, and you automatically hold it out to a woman! My dad did the same thing to my mom. It's like you guys don't have a pocket, or can't find a wastebasket, or can't have enough patience to figure out what you've got, and where it goes. Seriously. Are we in a hurry? Why can't you just lay them down in the console, and decide what you want to do with them later?"

Yeah. Sometimes I feel like Julia Sugarbaker. I can't stop the self-righteous speeches. I'm tired of candy wrappers and used gum and odd receipts being shoved at me. What am I, the world's pocketbook? A universal wastebasket?

Farmer H acted all put-out with me, but he laid the tickets in the console.

"They gave me these tickets. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with them. You go in there every day. So I'm giving them to you."

"They give out those tickets with a gas purchase. They have a cardboard box with a slot in it. You tear off one set of tickets, and put them in the box. They have a drawing. Every Monday, they draw a ticket. They post the number on the wall by the door. If your ticket matches that number, you win $30 of free gas."

"Well. You go every day. You can check it. And if you're going to start buying gas here when that other Casey's closes, you can get the tickets, and enter the drawing."

Sigh. I guess that's where I'll be buying my gas now. Even though they are right off the highway, and their price is higher.

Friday, I went back to the Gas Station Chicken Store for my 44 oz Diet Coke. Nobody else was in there, except the Chicken Lady, and the Man Owner. I put the lid on my magical elixir, and took it to the counter, where I set it by the glass lottery case. I pulled those red tickets out of my pocket.

"Where's the box I put these in? My husband got gas here yesterday, and he wants to enter." They move that box around, depending on what special they have on the endcap.

"Oh, it's right over there. On the top shelf." Man Owner motioned to the box, about three steps away from the counter.

I turned and put the tickets in, talking over my shoulder to Man Owner. When I turned back, a lady had come in from buying gas, and was standing right by my 44 oz Diet Coke, and MAN OWNER WAS RINGING UP HER PURCHASE!

Ain't THAT a fine how-do-you-do! He had been waiting on ME! All I did was turn and put the tickets in the box. He sees me there every day. When I bring my soda to the counter, I'm ready to pick out scratchers and pay. Now THIS lady had taken my turn. I stepped to her left. Behind my soda. Trying to remain gruntled.

That invader-lady took her change. She turned to me. "Do you use these red tickets?"

"I do NOW! Thank you." I tore the tickets and put half in the box.

That gal was pretty nice for a line-cutter.