Food Bag. The Walmart of gas stations. People make fun of working there yet the people who do are pretty much friends with everyone.
I hopped out of my wonderful apartment this morning to get a quick and cheaper cup of coffee. Had it been dunkin donutized, I'd have signed over the ownership papers to the cat. I am really enjoying small apartment living again. Its as NYC as I can get where I am without unlocking my golden handcuffs where I work until my company decides to virtual office my arse.
Standing in the checkout line, I see the lowest South Pole pockets I've ever seen. The bottom of the pockets hit below the backs of his knees. I can just imagine if I smacked his tushy I'd either get a handful of Mama bought boxers or possibly hit pay dirt on the coin slot.
He is busy doing the Young Dude Exchange. The coughing without a net cashier, is replaying a story that happened so recent, that I was standing there only beginning to wait my turn while holding my as yet to be paid for coffee.
Coughing Cashier: "Did you hear what I said to X? (Probably a guy named Josh. Seems about right around here.)"
Gravity Happens South Pole Guy: "No dude. What'd you say?"
Coughing Cashier: "I asked him if he was the A*hole who came pulling in here like that before"
Gravity SP Guy: "{gratuitous laughter}
A beat.
Gravity SP Guy: "Dude, I gotta go to my Gramma's today"
Coughing Cashier: "Yeah? Should be alright."
Gravity SP Guy: "Its her birthday. Catch you later."
On the way out the door, SP guy holds the door for me. I tell him to have fun at his Gramma's house.
Can you imagine how many insignificant posts I could eat up internet space with if I hung out at Food Bag all day? It's alright though. I can see it out my window. I can see everyone pull in and stop as if they JUST realized that there are gas tanks/other cars/a dumpster in the way.
I will try to refrain from Bagology studies. But no promises.
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