Sunday morning. With all the depressing, horrible, unfathomable news – both in my life and around the world – I needed some private time. And that “private time” meant bashing up a wooden crate for a future crate art project.
After taking out my frustration on the scrap wood box, I realized I would need some additional lumber. Okay, Sunday trip to Curtis Lumber, I can do that.
Ugh. Gas tank is low. Better stop at a Speedway and fill up.
Luckily for me, Speedway is running an August promotion where they’re offering gas discounts for loyal customers – spend $3 in purchase and you receive 10c off your gallon. Oh, you mean I’m paying under $2/gallon to fill up my car? Yes please.
Okay, I need some breakfast. A breakfast sandwich and a diet cola will suffice. There were other customers in the Speedway, but I was too focused on getting some nourishment and heading off to Curtis Lumber to get my wood supplies.
I looked up from the snack aisle. A young blonde woman motioned at me.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you.”
“Were you staring at me?”
Um … no… I don’t know what you’re talking about.
“You were. You were staring at my ass. Creep.”
Um … no … Lady, all I want to do is get some food and get back on the road. I’m not looking at your ass or any other part of your body. Get over yourself.
“You wish you had a piece of this. Well, you can’t have any. So stop staring at me. Ugh.”
Great, just what I don’t need right now. Some girl who thinks she’s hotter than she really is, wearing clothes that were obviously manufactured in a partnership between Dutch Boy and LuLaRoe, and she’s probably on her way to the track to lose her boyfriend’s money on the horse with the cutest name…
She made her purchase, gave me another middle-finger glare, and strutted out of the convenience store. I glanced to the parking lot. Yep. Her and a couple of frat boys in what looks like a late model BMW. Yeah. Did not need any of that.
“Do you have your Speedway rewards card, sir?”
I nodded and handed the card to the cashier. Paid for my purchase.
The Speedway register popped out four or five receipts. I knew what that meant. If you buy six sodas, you get the seventh soda free, and this must have been a free soda coupon. Nice.
I looked at the other receipts. Ooh, 1,000 point club for ordering something at the hot food counter. Okay … but I thought I earned that reward two days ago, and I didn’t eat THAT much Speedway food between then and now.
I then noticed that one of the receipts had the words, “Thanks, Wendy.”
Wait a second. I’m not Wendy.
Wendy must have been – oh, this must be the receipt for the girl who gave me the attitude.
I looked to the parking lot. BMW’s pulling out of the lot and on its way to I-87. Let the fraternity of Tappa Kegga Bru and the sorority of Wanna Feela Thigh go deal with the track.
Well, you know what, Wendy? You and your frat boy bros go lose your money.
The cashier aimed her product-scanning tool at the receipt. “Hand me your Speedway card,” she said, knowingly.
And with that, 1,000 extra Speedway bonus points just appeared magically on my Speedway rewards card.
Guess, in the end, it pays to know where to look.
Or, in my case, where NOT to look.
I’d be far more afraid of being in a car with a couple of frat boys than of a guy who was not staring at my ass.
Should have replied: “No I wasn’t staring. I was just wondering if that mustache is tough to shave.”
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