Why I Hate The Guy Who Owns The Local Convenient Store: An Essay

I stood in a line behind a girl and her dog. Cute dog, blond hair, excited to smell things and just be a canine in general. After he was done looking around and being exceedingly cute, his owner was finally able to corral him out the door. My turn at the register.

And there he stood: slender, mouse-ish face, long gamer ponytail. Extensive relics of the gaming world lining his quaint store. A store with a Super Scope, a complete Atari and about twelve other systems no one can recognize since 1990. Complete with the nasal voice of a pretentious person. His collection of beer (one can of over two hundred varieties) further highlighted his obsessiveness.

As I approached the counter and his full, undivided attention fell onto me, he glanced down at my item of choice. Diet Cheerwine.

"Why are you getting diet?" he asked, the slur in his words came through subtly.

I turned back from looking out the window into the day that was winding into twilight. I kept cool.

"Just trying to keep the calories down. Almost too late for sweets for this guy," I said good-naturedly.

He looked blankly. I glanced down at the beef jerky next to the register and offering up my credit card to get on with my day. Being in that store sometimes is scary. I become very afraid of losing my soul, getting it sucked out and into the hiss of Simpson episodes playing on the television behind me (which never stops).

"Well you know it's caffeine-free already. Diet won't do anything." He looked proud. Distinguished. Deceivingly pleased with himself.

I nodded, smiled, and left.

So there you have it. No caffeine = no calories.