I’ll tell you where I was at 0615 this morning - running terribly late for work and fueling my car in the freezing cold. I’m in the car, driving, and suddenly (seemingly out of nowhere!) an enlightened low fuel gauge!
“Woe to me,” I exclaim. “I shall never get my car started unless I fill my fuel tank.” So I turn around and head to the nearest, safest petrol station - but three blocks from my home.
Pulling up to the gas pump, I note the screen’s warning: “Pay Clerk Inside”. Groan. I never pay inside. Thus marks the beginning of a dreary day.
I go inside and enter the very short queue. Ahead of me is an incredibly ghetto fabulous customer.
“Sweetheart, get me a pack of Camels. And yea, a Smirnoff. Get me a Smirnoff, sweetheart.”
Yes, at quarter after six in the morning, this individual is purchasing Smirnoff Ice, likely for immediate consumption. Sun not yet risen, yet consuming alcohol. The cashier takes his money and slips his purchases into a brown paper bag.
“Sweetheart, don’t you got a plastic bag?”
“No, sorry. I’m all out.”
“Are you serious? Sweetheart, I gotta walk, and I can’t carry this paper bag,” he whines. “I mean, I could, but I really don’t want to.”
I’m not even kidding.
“No we only have the paper bag.”
He turns to me, “Aw I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m holding you up, go ahead.”
I prepay for my fuel. Exit stage left.
Seriously. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before buying a Smirnoff.