2/11/03
The lady at the convenience store scares me.
It's a nice convenience store. It was built just a few months ago. It's clean, modern and it has a nifty car wash. Fuel prices sometimes are a penny higher than other stores in town. For Debbie, that means driving through a couple more neighborhoods to get the cheaper gas. For me it's not usually an issue. Plus, Allie loves the car wash.
I was just there last night. Allie and I went to fuel up our green, econobox Mazda. Allie was excited about getting the car washed. When I picked her up from daycare she took a look at the car and said, "We need to wash my car, Daddy. The windows are very dirty."
Unfortunately I snapped the driver's side wiper blade off while I was waiting for the car to fill up with gas. Believe me, I'm not that strong. It was just this piece of equipment's time (not unlike many other parts of this automobile). No wiper. No wash. Especially in zero degree weather.
Allie didn't get my explanation about why there wasn't going to be a car wash. She wasn't disappointed. She was pissed.
Anyway, I went into the store to pay for my gas and I decided to buy a car wash anyway. You see I had to pledge a solemn oath to my daughter that I would take her along when we did wash the car. "I, Daddy, do swear upon the life of my TV remote and favorite Elvis Costello cassette that I will take my daughter with me when I wash our car. So let it be written. So let it be done."
Another customer heard me buying Allie's car wash. I heard him say to the cashier (the one I'm afraid of), "Car wash!? It's going to snow again tomorrow. If I got a car wash I'd just have to wash it again tomorrow. I'd wait to get a car wash." He didn't even look at me when he said it. He just turned around and walked to his ugly, copper colored minivan. He was probably thinking he'd done a great service by stopping another ignorant citizen from committing the huge error of a poorly timed car wash.
I've been thinking about what I should have said to this guy. On the drive to work this morning I planned several different scenarios in my head. My favorite approach was sarcasm: "Sir, I apologize for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear your thoughts on car washes and impending weather conditions. Thank you so much! I don't know if you noticed, but I just, this very moment, purchased a car wash. And while I hadn't really planned on using it right away, the thought did cross my mind. If it weren't for your extremely well timed commentary I may have needlessly washed my vehicle. God bless you. I hope you'll continue to let your personal thoughts and opinions spill out of your mouth with the conviction that people are interested in and will actually benefit from them."
I didn't get to say that. I'm glad. I'm not really that petty, but he caught me right after a serious car washing discussion with a three-year-old. My frustration level was a little higher than normal.
What I really want to tell you about, though, is the lady that took Carwash Man's money. She's the convenience store lady that scares me. It seems that regardless of what time I go to this place she's there. Ten in the morning or ten at night, she's always waiting for me.
She isn't scary looking. Although it doesn't seem that she spends a lot of time brushing the large amounts of grayish, silverish hair on her head. And, if I'm already on the subject of what she looks like, you would probably notice that her teeth aren't in the best shape.
Here's the deal: She watches me.
I've worked in a convenience store and I don't ever recall watching people gas-up their cars. She is always staring at me through the window while I'm at the pumps. She doesn't do other work. She doesn't straighten the pens near the register or pay attention to other customers in the store. She stares at me. And then, the thing that really gets me is the expression that comes over her face when I walk into the store.I know you think I'm imagining things, but she really does look at me as if I'm a tender, delicious rotisserie chicken and she's going to eat me.
You might be thinking that it could be some sort of sexual thing. This woman, for some strange reason, finds me attractive. Or, on the other side of the coin, she thinks I'm freakish and can't take her eyes off me. If you're taking either position, you're wrong.
She wants to eat me.
She doesn't want to make out with me. Nor does she want to take a Polaroid to show all of her friends the ugly, round guy that buys gas from her. She wants to leap over the counter like a cheetah, pull me down like I'm a sick Zebra and chew on my neck until I stop thrashing around on the convenience store floor.
I could just avoid this place, but that would be silly. She's not going to eat me. I know this. I know that she is not going to reach beneath the counter and pull out a stun gun and zap me. She's not going to drag my big ol' body back to the cooler and gut me. There's no way she's going to do an expert job of butchering me back there. She will not wrap portions of my well marbled flesh in white paper marked in black sharpie with words like, "shank" and "loin". My head will not be placed on a shelf in her den next to the other customers she thought might be tasty. This is not going to happen.
However, if Debbie should happen to call you because she doesn't know where I am you know where to start looking.