Friday, July 21, 2006
The World We Live In
So it's Friday night, and I'm headed to a drive-through beverage stop, you know, one of those places where you can pick up cold pop, beer, pretzels and so on. Around here, they're often called pony kegs. Anyway, as I'm entering the driveway, I suddenly think, "Wait, did I bring my debit card?" I stop in the darkness of the parking lot for a moment, out of view of the person on duty, and I check my wallet, nod, and I drive into his establishment.
He looks a little stricken. I sort of realize that he probably wondered what I was doing, for those few minutes, in the darkness, not driving into his pony keg.
I explain that I was checking to see if I had money, and I wave my debit card at him, and I apologize for possibly seeming a little odd, for not driving right up into his pony keg.
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter that I'm 36 years old, wearing my glasses, a perfectly nice Oxford shirt, that I'm driving a very middle-class looking car, and that I'm pretty sure I don't look like a thug. This clean cut young man, maybe about 20, is clearly keeping his distance from me. I tell him that I need some Coca-Cola and some diet pop, and he gets it for me, and as he starts to relax, he explains that he thought I might have been about to rob him.
I have to admit, I'm almost flattered, since I've never been the sort of person to induce fear into anyone. At least I don't think so. I was one of those kids in middle school who was routinely picked on by bullies.
I apologize again, and he half-apologizes by saying, "It's a shame that I would think you might be out to rob me, but it's the world we live in."
I agree, and that's when the guy adds: "I've never been robbed, but we're always a little wary. That's why we have a lot of ammunition in the back."
"Oh, well, that's great," I say.
"Yeah, I won't show that to you, but I will show you this," he says, whipping out a baseball bat from behind the counter.
Part of me is wondering if he's being friendly, sending a message, or both. Either way, I'm definitely not planning on a second career as a robber.
Definitely not, because suddenly he's talking about nunchuks, and then showing me a police baton. Both weapons seem to materialize out of thin air. Now I'm the one who is a little worried.
And then he shows me his knife, one with a long gleaming blade.
I nod, and we make some more small talk as I sign the credit card receipt. I glance at my signature. It's a little shaky.
And the funny thing is, I think he was really just making his own small talk more than sending me a message. Because he seemed to look a little alarmed, once he realized how alarmed I looked.
In any case, I didn't stick around for long. I sped off, leaving him behind with his beverages and his survival weapons. I was a little stunned that he would show a customer his security methods, but I don't blame him for having them. In that any car could just drive up, stick a gun out, grab some money and speed away, he probably does feel more than a little vulnerable. And suddenly, so do I.
It's the world we live in.
He looks a little stricken. I sort of realize that he probably wondered what I was doing, for those few minutes, in the darkness, not driving into his pony keg.
I explain that I was checking to see if I had money, and I wave my debit card at him, and I apologize for possibly seeming a little odd, for not driving right up into his pony keg.
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter that I'm 36 years old, wearing my glasses, a perfectly nice Oxford shirt, that I'm driving a very middle-class looking car, and that I'm pretty sure I don't look like a thug. This clean cut young man, maybe about 20, is clearly keeping his distance from me. I tell him that I need some Coca-Cola and some diet pop, and he gets it for me, and as he starts to relax, he explains that he thought I might have been about to rob him.
I have to admit, I'm almost flattered, since I've never been the sort of person to induce fear into anyone. At least I don't think so. I was one of those kids in middle school who was routinely picked on by bullies.
I apologize again, and he half-apologizes by saying, "It's a shame that I would think you might be out to rob me, but it's the world we live in."
I agree, and that's when the guy adds: "I've never been robbed, but we're always a little wary. That's why we have a lot of ammunition in the back."
"Oh, well, that's great," I say.
"Yeah, I won't show that to you, but I will show you this," he says, whipping out a baseball bat from behind the counter.
Part of me is wondering if he's being friendly, sending a message, or both. Either way, I'm definitely not planning on a second career as a robber.
Definitely not, because suddenly he's talking about nunchuks, and then showing me a police baton. Both weapons seem to materialize out of thin air. Now I'm the one who is a little worried.
And then he shows me his knife, one with a long gleaming blade.
I nod, and we make some more small talk as I sign the credit card receipt. I glance at my signature. It's a little shaky.
And the funny thing is, I think he was really just making his own small talk more than sending me a message. Because he seemed to look a little alarmed, once he realized how alarmed I looked.
In any case, I didn't stick around for long. I sped off, leaving him behind with his beverages and his survival weapons. I was a little stunned that he would show a customer his security methods, but I don't blame him for having them. In that any car could just drive up, stick a gun out, grab some money and speed away, he probably does feel more than a little vulnerable. And suddenly, so do I.
It's the world we live in.
# posted by Geoff Williams : 11:57 PM
