Yesterday morning presented itself as a wonderful opportunity for a few hours of ‘me time’ – sandwiched between running The Narrator to school, and working 3-11 on the road. Just a few short miles from the school is a lake. Rather than make the drive home after dropoff, then come back and pick him up a few hours later, I decided to spend some time fishing (read: drowning worms) in said lake. The weather was beautiful, and I had the gear in the car. My only need was bait. And coffee.
Gas stations aren’t noted for having the best of either of these two things, but beggars can’t be choosers. So I pulled into a local station, filled my styrofoam cup to the brim with piping hot liquid life, and rooted through the smelly refrigerator they kept in the back with a faded “Live Bait” sticker on it. I found a small container of worms and happily made my way to the busy counter.
The cashier was slightly younger than me, sported a number of facial piercings that I never fathomed possible, and a face that did very little to mask the fact that she would probably would have rather been water boarded than work another minute behind the counter. The man in front of me paid out and left.
Mr. Chipper (me) was next, so I plunked down the coffee and container of worms.
“Is this all?” She asked- robotically, there was no indication at all in her voice that she gave a whit if I had gotten everything I needed or not.
“Yes,” Says I, with a moronic grin on my face…. “Just the coffee and the breakfast.” I guess I thought a small joke would do something to lighten the misery that was clearly her morning.
In response- I got an eye roll and a head shake that very plainly told me that my sense of humor was not appreciated at this particular time. Or perhaps ever.
I cringed much the way a stage comedian in the middle of a flop set might do when the audience starts looking around for things to hurl at him, and sauntered out of there.