The Afterhours

You may be asking yourself, "Self, where is the hip-hop-happening afterhours spot in Livingston County?" And yourself will say:

"Sure as hell not the 7/11 at the corner of Grand River and Pleasant Valley!" My self just went through this process.

On my way home to my mom's in Browell (the vast nothingness between Brighton and Howell) from Abby's house in Green Joke (AKA Green Oak Township), I stopped at the aforementioned 7/11 for gas. The first terror occurred when I had to end my Sacrifice Theory-esque jam sesh to get out of the car. Then, when I get inside, there is a dude waiting at the counter, but no attendant. Luckily, the guy was cute, and at least half as sarcastic as I am, so we chatted for a few minutes before the oldest lady I've ever seen waddled up to the counter. The guy ahead of me payed for his gas, and I was next. Finally.

So, I told the lady that I needed $25 on pump three (my usual stakeout here), and she looked at me like I was crazy. Everyone else that works at this gas station knows that pump three is my pump. Has been since the glory days of running in the trumped-up, fast-paced world of the bread business two summers ago. Old lady obviously hadn't been clued in.

She looked out the window, and was like, "Pump three? I don't see anything there." And she continued to peer with beady, old lady eyes.

I was all, "Oh, you're right. I must have gone temporarily braindead when I parked my giant, red, piece of shit car at a different pump that I thought was number three." Old lady took my money and told me to have a good night. I laughed.

Then, some guy in a suit and his gal pal pull up on the other side of the pump from me (at what I'm assuming is pump two - far less superior than pump three). He got out of his car and went to pump gas. Normal. Then, he tries to strike up a conversation with me. Not normal. I'm like, "Dude, you're talking to me at a gas pump at midnight and a quarter. I don't want to talk to you, and for your own safety, you shouldn't want to talk to me either. What if I'm a rapist?" After this, he went inside to pay for his gas. And his gal pal decided to stare at me as I pulled away blasting Medicate in the confines of my giant, red, piece of shit car. Word.