–In which our hero is accosted late at night and forced to listen to uninsightful blather as his provisions are bagged.
As anybody who’s read these essays or any of my other writings knows, I have a lot to say, and I know it may not be to everybody’s tastes. But this is the Web, I’m not bagging your groceries, and you can leave whenever you want. (But not now, please)
You see, last night as I was at a gas station filling up the IITBmobile, I remembered the IITBcave needed milk. I’ve been to this station before, and the 20-something clerks have been friendly, so I felt no qualms about doing a little late-night one-stop shopping. I find the milk, I pick up a sandwich because I’m hungry (and I can get 300 bonus [certain gas station chain] Rewards points). And since it’s after midnight, there’s no wait, and I can get out and on my way quickly.
Or not. What follows is a rough reconstruction of the actual conversation the overweight, middle-aged (he told me his age) late-night gas station attendant had, as I’m tired, hungry and eager to get home, and he is holding my two gallons of milk and sub sandwich hostage as he “bags” them.