12:59 p.m. - 2005-01-08
tales from home
Yesterday evening I had a lovely night out with some old friends. Then this morning I went to the grocery store to pick some things up for my mom. I also took with me a large box and a bag of items to drop off at the Goodwill.
When I dropped off the stuff at the scary back alley "drop-off center" which was really a closed, old, white garage door with peeling paint, I realized my car was getting a little messy. So I got a plastic grocery bag out of the trunk and put the various map quest directions from past trips, gum wrappers and empty Gatorade bottles in the bag. I was about to toss the bag into the nearby dumpster but right them someone came out of the store to ask me if I needed a tax receipt and I had a little twinge of guilt because technically you're not supposed to throw stuff away in dumpsters unless it's your dumpster. So I tossed the bag in the car for future disposal. I stopped for gas on the way home, went inside to pay and chatted with the men who work at the store who my parents refer to as "The Iranians" though we have absolutely no idea what middle eastern country they may hail from. In any case, they chatted with me and inquired about my Michigan license plates. I gave them the super ultra short non-personal version of the story and they all welcomed me warmly back to the area. How nice! I scampered off toward the car and realized I could throw my trash away in the can next to the gas pump because that's what it's there for. I tossed the bag into the trash can and headed home. When I pulled into my driveway and gathered the stuff to take inside, I couldn't find the bag of groceries. My eyes fixed on the bag of trash on the front seat. Crap. I went inside to tell my mother and of course she sent me right back to the gas station to retrieve said bag from the trash can. If I had a job right now, I think I would have just headed back to the grocery store instead. Of course, as I pull up, all three of the men saw me, looking curiously to see what I was doing. Unfortunately I had to wait behind another car at that pump. Of course there were like three other "islands" not being used, so I looked like an idiot waiting behind this car. The woman pumping her gas directs annoyed glances my way, obviously unclear on why I would wait behind her when there were clearly other gas pumps available. I pretend to dig around in my purse for something as if oblivious to her understandable confusion. See, I didn't want to approach her and freak her out, since she was standing right next to the trash can. And I also didn't really want to reach into the trash can and dig out my lost and forlorn bag of cream cheese and graham crackers right in front of her. Because then I would feel compelled to explain, and that just wouldn't go well. Finally she pulls away. The three men inside are now craning their necks, watching, puzzled, as I pulled one bag out of the trash and threw in another. I shook my head, hoping that communicated "I have done something terribly stupid and it is just to silly to take the time to explain it. Please don't think I'm an idiot."
See in a place like Seattle or New York, service people don't give a crap what you're doing. They don't ask you questions and inquire about your plans. They don't even remember you unless you show up every week and order a crapload of lemon slices with your beer every time like I do. But here in good old North Versailles, people remember you. And so such snafus like this morning's are observed, noticed, remembered and probably brought up again in the future. I'm paying at the pump from now on.
