My part time job takes me 19 miles to the northwest corner of the county two nights a week. It is there that I provide security/maintenance for the local gas station mini-mart. It stands as an oasis of sorts bordered by 3 different counties. From within the warm and friendly confines, you can blow your paycheck on more than 30 varieties of scratch off lottery tickets, take your chance playing coffeepot roulette on coffee that holds a close second to freshly cooked Meth, or enjoy one of the many culinary delights that emerge from the talented cashier's skills in the back kitchen grill area. I wholeheartedly recommend the Cheeseburger Plate with a generous helping of Homemade Coleslaw at only $4.95
and if you order it before 2:30 a.m., you still have time to grab a six pack on your way out the door.
The station is surprisingly busy for Tuesday and Wednesday nights.
I am amazed at what passes for nightlife here in southeastern Tennessee. We have a countryfied version of "The Fast & The Furious." These country boys fell into that movie shit hook line and sinker and will take a junk Honda or Nissan from the local yards and dump half their annual salaries into the damn things tricking them out. Most of the time all they wind up accomplishing is becoming a magnet for the local law enforcement who tirelessly dog the hell out of these poor idiots because they stand out like a turd in a punchbowl. We have a crew of 4 or 5 guys who pull into the station to stock up on Mountain Dew, Slim Jims and Red Bull and they actually display their most recent traffic tickets to the cashier girl like they are valuable trophies, then when they are through flirting and such, they head up to Rabbit Valley Road for some more drag racing. About 10 minutes later, me and Kayla see 3 or 4 cruisers rip around the intersection of Highway 58 and tear ass up Rt. 60 to apprehend them.
During one of her smoke breaks outside, I asked her about 9-11, and what it had been like for her. Kayla is just 19, so she was in middle school when it happened. What she told me kind of freaked me out. Her principle got on the P.A. and ordered all teachers to stop the curiculum and turn the televisions to whatever channel and the rest of the school day was pretty much watching the media circus of the planes hitting the towers, the towers falling, and all the other stuff that went with it.
Call me a hermit, but up until that conversation, I had no idea that 9-11 was part of the classroom experience for any children. I don't know, I think it was messed up that a school administrator would willingly expose the children to that sort of chaos. She told me that a lot of parents were really pissed off that their kids were forced to watch that shit, but that the principle had gotten his orders from the highest levels of the Board of Education. That is some fucked up shit man. That would be like me and my classmates having to watch live footage of a platoon of American soldiers get their arms and legs blown off in a surprise ambush in Vietnam back in the seventies. What purpose did it serve? Geesh, no wonder kids these days act the way they do. They have been desensitized to the point of total numbness. Well, all I can say is that it became the basis of the start of a very strange and insightful friendship.
We have'nt really got around to talking about drugs and drug abuse issues, but she points out truckers that she knows are on pills and shit. A lot of times it's pretty obvious, cause they'll get so cranked up, they forget to turn off their Jake Brake after leaving the mountains and flames and shit pop out of their stacks when they get caught at the only light for miles around. I never thought a simple part time job at a gas station could be so damn entertaining, but it is.