No, not you. Well maybe you, I don’t know. Who am I to judge?
This post is about a guy at a gas station, just a few minutes ago. I stopped there to put my last $3.20 in my tank. It’s a Kroger gas station, and for those of you unfamiliar, the “store” part of it, the part where you pay for everything, is just a booth with a person inside, talking to you through bulletproof glass.
I walked up to the window, the first one there, and noticed two women inside messing with the computer. They had a piece of paper and were reading off of it, then touching the screen, then looking at the paper. Clearly, something wasn’t working.
After about five minutes the one woman speaks through the microphone to me, telling me she’ll be with me in just a moment. I, having nowhere to go, and nothing important to do, and containing more than enough patience to make it through this ordeal, was fine with that.
Then a guy walks up behind me and waits in line. The ladies inside are still messing with the computer, looking at the paper, and then calling someone on the phone to figure out what needed to be figured out. The guy behind me, after no more than a minute, says, “This is bullshit.”
This guy is a familiar type around my neighborhood. He’s the ghetto, twenty-something, white boy. He drove up in a late 90s Mustang that sounded like he just drove it off a buy here pay here lot. It wouldn’t be a surprise, because within a mile of this gas station there are no less than a dozen of those on the same street. Hell, there are three across the street from the gas station and one next door.
My problem wasn’t so much with what he said, or that he felt the need to say it out loud, or that he had no patience to wait a fucking minute for service. It was that I had been there for now six minutes and he had just walked up, but it was bullshit that he had to wait a minute while it was apparently okay that I waited six.
Excuse me, who the fuck are you? If I can wait six minutes patiently, you can fucking wait one. Shut your mouth and please, don’t procreate.
Not to mention that when he said this, he threw his arms on top of one of the two newspaper stands there and leaned on it, like he just couldn’t stand there in one spot another second.
Ah, today’s generation. They need to get their gratification instantly.
I laughed to myself and shook my head. After I paid and started to walk back to my car, I heard him place his order. $4 in gas and a pack of Newports, which cost over $7 a pack here. At least he’s keeping up his ghetto image. No gas for his cheap sports car, and a pack of what everyone else in the hood smokes.
Anyway, the rest of my day has been great so far. Just thought I’d get that off my chest. That guy might be impatient now, but he’ll be hating life once he’s become a slave to the Supreme Being Overlord.