If you think it's just a freakshow at GhettoGas, you'd be dead wrong. This morning's SuburbaGas was a virtual parade of carnie folk. I love coffee, but I'm hardly a coffee snob. Gas station coffee is fine by me! So I swung by SuburbaGas and went straight for the coffee. There was a short older man standing there, sporting his trucker hat and denim shirt tucked into his denim pants. He came up to my shoulder, maybe and proceeded to stare at me as I filled a cup with coffee.
He had a swizzle stick in his coffee and he stood across the little coffee kiosk from me, swirling his powdered creamer for an unnecessarily long time while blatantly staring.
As is my tried and true staring theory, when someone stares at you, you need to stare back at them while offering the "What?" face. They will inevitably look away and feel remorse.
My staring back trick did not work on The Stirrer.
He just stood there, swirling and staring. Like a serial killer, with a stupid little grin on his face. I'd stare at him unsuccessfully, then look back down. I'd try staring again. He wouldn't give up!
The grin! The swirling! The staring! I was one Tom Petty version of American Girl away from being someone's woman suit. I actually wondered if he was blind and thus, unaware that he was being so rude, but he didn't have any of the blind people accoutrement's (sunglasses, white cane, dog, piano, etc.).
Finally, I managed to get coffee, milk, Splenda, a cup cover and a cup cozie (all while being stared at) and as I went to grab my purse from the counter, The Stirrer walks past me (still stirring) and admires a display of stuffed animals. SuburbaGas has an actual display of caged stuffed puppies for "adoption." It's bizarre and clearly, called to The Stirrer. He started reading their adoption information aloud and chuckling. I couldn't figure out if he was trying to draw me into a conversation or was just a fucking psychopath, so I got the hell out of there and attempted to pay for my coffee.
In front of me in line was a gentleman who was there to redeem his winning lottery ticket. He'd won $100 and cheerfully announced, "I probably put about $390 into it, so it all works out, I guess."
Opposed to talking to strangers in gas stations, I didn't point out to him that no, it has not all worked out. He spent $290 on the joy of one winning scratcher and he should be horrified. But there is some bureaucratic complexity to awarding a $100 lottery ticket, complexity I was now privy to as I was stuck behind Mr. Lucky.
SuburbaGas is where someone recently won like, a billion dollars on a lottery ticket. I imagine this is why it's now packed with God's mistakes.
I finally paid for my coffee and as I walked out the door, a gentleman walked in who (I'm debating even mentioning this) looked exactly like Mohammed Atta.
I'm not saying I think this gentleman is a terrorist. I'm just saying he looks like a really famous one. He probably hears it all the time, so relax. He even gave me a look that was like, "Yeah, I know I look like the leader of the 19 September 11th terrorists. Get over it."
And why did he give me that look?
Because I was staring...