Give me a lighter…
Yeah, go ahead. Give me another lighter. I have others, but just in case none of them work.
This morning. Gas station. Not awake enough to do more than stumble in to get a big swig of the radioactive green stuff. Eyes downcast. Hair in a messy ponytail on the top of my head. Just need a swig. I keep saying I’m going to give up. I’m really going to cut down.
There’s a woman at the counter. I glance at her on my way in. I see sergeant stripes, but another quick glance reveals she can’t possibly be in uniform. Red tights and shorts or a skirt as short as they can go.
I get to the Mountain Dew, vainly weigh the idea of paying $1.59 for a liter of Dew, as opposed to $1.39 for the 20 ounces. What the hell. It’s already more money than I’d pay in Michiana.
I hear: Yeah, go ahead. Give me another lighter. I have others, but just in case none of them work.
I give her another glance and laugh to myself. She’s got that smoker’s voice.
I grab my nectar, go stand behind the woman in red tights. She’s chatting up a storm, and apparently doing her grocery shopping.
Cereal. Four bottles of Frappucino. And…
a pack of cigarettes. And presumably a lighter, just in case the others don’t work.
I give her jacket another close look, as the clerk seems to be in no hurry. She’s packing the woman’s convenience groceries and chatting back. They talk about the clerk’s parents’ health, which apparently isn’t good.
Oh, I’m so sorry, honey, says the woman in red tights.
Her jacket has wings on the other side. I never really get a good look at the front. But this is not even a jacket that has been salvaged from the military salvage store. It’s more like a stylelization of what a woman might want in a military jacket.
I glance at her again, Marlboros in hand, and think, wow, she’s brave.
She’s got about my figure, or pretty portly at about two-thirds my height, and wearing something so short, she shouldn’t bend down. I’d never wear red tights with that figure either.
From the smoker’s voice, probably in her 40s, hair piled on top of her head, but perhaps more tidily than mine. Heavy makeup, of course.
And then I also knew I was no one to judge, since I was feeding my own addiction. But knew I had to write about her anyway, because I collect descriptions of odd people. I don’t always remember to write them down, but she was still fresh in my mind.
Ah, another swig of Dew.
I’ve always loved the bohemian/punk look. Especially on women, I have to admit. I’ve also always been too lazy to commit to the shopping such a look would require. I’d rather buy and wear the first thing that fits. I’m only fastidious about books and films.
Um, this didn’t look bohemian or punk. Not just because of her age, because there are women that age who can definitely pull that off. More like redneck crammed into tight clothes. It’s nice to know, no matter where you move, you can be assured of seeing the same kinds of people. There are different kinds of characters — like the shopping cart guy here — but there are still the same characters too. Invariably has the smoker voice and a southern accent. If she worked in a restaurant, she’d call you honey. Not kidding.
Btw… The shopping cart guy was near the trash enclosure after my foray for Mountain Dew. Had a pleasant exchange with him, even if neither one of us understood what the other was saying.
I’m wondering if he starts his day off with a dig through the trash, instead of with Marlboros or Dew like most people.
The military jacket is normally trademark punk. But maybe this was too “stylized” to be punk
I used to have a MD addiction and still am chained to smokes. In high school, it was MD and fries, a daily ritual after class. Not sure when MD slipped out of the picture; maybe when I went to Spain where they didn’t sell it. The smokes started before HS, though I’ve managed to give them up for years at a time. Thinking about giving them up for my birthday: 30 is a good time as any to find a new habit.
I gave up MD for three years, but found in times of stress, it comes back. Much like smoking must. I think some people just need some sort of addiction. I’m happy that mine is fairly harmless, if you don’t count all the caffeine, the sugar adding pounds to the flab, and probably slowly losing the lining to my stomach.
As someone at work said about her addiction to a Fresca-like drink — if a study shows that Mountain Dew causes cancer, I might as well start digging my grave now.
Melissa, what other habits might you find? Is there something naughtily Belgian you can addict yourself to?
Hmmm. I’d like to like exercise, but I don’t see that happening. Too lazy (see my post A Day in the Life). The alternatives for habits here are decadent and equally heath harmful–fries, pastries, chocolates. I’m more prone to the fries and pastries–easy access; Leonidas has one or two shops in town. Maybe I’ll buy mounds of gum for chewing pleasure. I don’t know. I just don’t like the picture of saying that I’ve smoked the span of 20 years (which would happen in the near future).