After my Dillon's experience, I then had to continue on with the Kroger family and visit the Kwik Shop. My poor husband needed gas before he left for work this morning at 6:00 a.m. So I grabbed the gas can (not trusting fumes alone to carry James to Wichita) and began to fill. I screamed in my head when some of this liquid gold splashed out of my can. I frantically searched in my head for a way to recapture the drops from the pavement; none came. So I wept as though I had tossed a handful of quarters down a black hole.
Mission accomplished, I looked at my total for filling a gas can. $12.98. I used to be able to fill an entire car tank (tho' not in Bush years) on $12.98. Nearly thirteen friggin' dollars to fill a GAS CAN. Sighing, I made my way in to pay. We all know the drill..."Welcome to Kwik Shop" mumbles the clerk, without looking up from his customer, paperwork, stocking duty. What I actually heard was "Welcome to Kwik Shop....now pay for your dry ass fucking". I am still sore in my bottom area after paying $12.98 to fill a stinking gas can.
On my way home, I figured out the "welcome to Kwik Shop" and why it makes me feel like an intruder. If someone were to come into my home without calling first, without knocking, I would have a difficult time making them feel welcome. "Welcome to my home", I would say without turning from my Jewel Quest game or looking up from scrubbing my kitchen sink.
Well hell, now that I think it ALL the way through...I give those Kwik Shop clerks hard earned money when I walk in there unannounced. Now, if anyone were to walk into my home unannounced and uninvited and give me money for whatever I may have....a hockey puck scattered by one of "the boys", a throw pillow that doesn't match anything I own, can you imagine what kind of welcome I would give them? Shit...thought I had it figured out. I don't.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment