The Circle K

There are two types of experiences at a Circle K gas station. Either you see someone's ass or you almost die.

This is especially true for desert Circle K's. There is one Circle K that's the last gas station for hours. Go East from there, and the land is so harsh, not even cactus survive. There was a time where my husband and I found ourselves at that Circle K almost every week. And every week, the same lady would pop out of the crosote bushes.  I'd say,

"Hey, there's that lady again!"

And he'd look and BAM, somehow whatever fabric she had on would slip and we'd see her ass.

Then there was the time, same Circle K, I tried to put air in my tires. When I pulled into the Circle K, it was daylight. By the time I got through the line to ask the cashier to turn on the air, night was falling.

I was crouched down, unscrewing the air nozzle, and suddenly, the Earth welled people. Everywhere I looked, people, and I'm not talking a dad getting his daughter some ice cream. I mean, hard looking people, rough looking people, and people who didn't know what planet they were on.

A man huffed into a paper bag in the front seat of his Buick. A car with duct tape on its rear windshield spelling NOT A COP shuddered to the pump. A woman whose wig was on backwards screamed that it wasn't.

F' the tire pressure, I left.

I thought, maybe it's just this Circle K. So I stopped at a different Circle K. This time it was daylight, during work hours, and a man in a gold suburban was at the pump next to me. He smiled at me, and I realized he had a lot of gold jewelry, a gold tooth, and a pocket knife with a gold handle. But he didn't look like a rich person. He looked like he was probably a low level criminal.

"Hey," he said.

I was the only person at the pump with him. I thought about ignoring him, but I found him sort of sad, so I said hey back.

"You should go inside. Just ask for the forty cent discount. They'll give it to you."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind next time I come here."

"Seriously," he said. "Look at my prices compared to yours."

I couldn't help it. I walked over, staying out of gold handled knife reach, but close enough I could see the price per gallon for his gas.

It was forty cents cheaper.

"Told you," he smiled.

"Impressive," I said.

My gas finished pumping, and I left.

There was no way in hell I was going to ask for the forty cent discount. Only two things happen at a Circle K, and either outcome was not worth saving forty cents per gallon.