by Pa Rock
Observer
I'm just back from my morning trip to the local quick stop where I habitually begin my daily iced tea regimen and throw away two dollars on the lottery. Invariably the people I stand behind in line are there to purchase lottery tickets, giving the place more of an appearance of being an over-the-counter casino than of a place designed to dispense gas and basic groceries.
Today, however, I got behind someone far more interesting. The lady, who had to make a couple of trips to get her wares to the counter, bought two name-brand cartons of cigarettes, and four thirty-packs of beer. Oddly, she bought no ice - which I suspect was an oversight. Her bill was a jarring $139.27.
But, as Paul Harvey would have been quick to point out, there was more to the story.
She took the cigarettes and one thirty-pack and left as I stepped up to pay for my anemic, single-digit purchase. I might have volunteered to lug one of her beer suitcases, but she was not present when I finished my business, so I returned to my car (semi-guilt-free) to go through my daily ritual of studying the numbers on the new lottery tickets. It turns out the cigarette-and-beer lady was parked next to me - and was lugging her Ozark breakfast into a new Ford pickup, one case at a time. A nice looking young man was in the truck sitting behind the wheel soaking up the air-conditioning as his girlfriend (or mother) wrestled the booze into the vehicle one case at a time.
It took her three trips to carry and load the goods. I drove off before seeing whether he sent her back for ice or not.
And as I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought "Ain't love grand!"
Observer
I'm just back from my morning trip to the local quick stop where I habitually begin my daily iced tea regimen and throw away two dollars on the lottery. Invariably the people I stand behind in line are there to purchase lottery tickets, giving the place more of an appearance of being an over-the-counter casino than of a place designed to dispense gas and basic groceries.
Today, however, I got behind someone far more interesting. The lady, who had to make a couple of trips to get her wares to the counter, bought two name-brand cartons of cigarettes, and four thirty-packs of beer. Oddly, she bought no ice - which I suspect was an oversight. Her bill was a jarring $139.27.
But, as Paul Harvey would have been quick to point out, there was more to the story.
She took the cigarettes and one thirty-pack and left as I stepped up to pay for my anemic, single-digit purchase. I might have volunteered to lug one of her beer suitcases, but she was not present when I finished my business, so I returned to my car (semi-guilt-free) to go through my daily ritual of studying the numbers on the new lottery tickets. It turns out the cigarette-and-beer lady was parked next to me - and was lugging her Ozark breakfast into a new Ford pickup, one case at a time. A nice looking young man was in the truck sitting behind the wheel soaking up the air-conditioning as his girlfriend (or mother) wrestled the booze into the vehicle one case at a time.
It took her three trips to carry and load the goods. I drove off before seeing whether he sent her back for ice or not.
And as I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought "Ain't love grand!"
No comments:
Post a Comment