Greetings from the Gas Station

A quick walk to the corner gas station always lowers my faith in humanity.

First off, about the only reason I go there is to get soda and/or junk food, so I'm already in a self-loathing mode. This self loathing is further helped by one cashier that likes to remark on my purchases. "What, no Slim Jim today, buddy?" he'll ask with what appears to be a sincere, non-sarcastic smile. This throws me off. I'm always prepared to be mocked, and I'm ready to fire back. But he genuinely seems curious why I just don't want a Slim Jim today.

Which leads me to realize with a twist in my stomach that I buy so many Slim Jims at this place that not doing so is a remarkable event. Now my self-loathing gets a topping of shame, and I'm in the perfect mood to witness humanity.

There is always (and I really mean always) someone in front of me, often of advanced years, picking out scratch tickets with the intense scrutiny of a teenage boy that just found his dad's stash of Playboys. The sucker in question is staring those little pieces of cardboard down like there's a sure big winner in view and all it takes is a good look-see to find out which it is. Our gambler is basically undressing those poor, helpless scratch tickets with his/her eyes.

I'm standing there, jonesing for a sugar fix, staring at the back of the sucker's head as if my intense frustration just might make it explode. (If this ever works, I'll let you know.) Every time I fight the urge to explain the economics of scratch tickets. It's pretty simple: If you buy every scratch ticket on Earth, you will lose money. Therefore, if you buy a fraction of all the scratch tickets on Earth, you will most likely lose money. The only hope for profit is buying a few, hitting a winner, and quitting on the spot.

This doesn't happen. How do I know this? Because all those suckers buying tickets scratch them off mere seconds after purchasing them, and turn in any winners for more tickets. This leads me to wonder if someone hits a ten thousand dollar winner, will I see them everyday feverishly blowing through the winnings in hopes of more winnings? I think I know the answer to that.

I know I should feel bad for these people, since they are most likely addicts. I should also feel bad for smokers who come in and drop eight bucks for a pack of smokes that might last a day. Often, it's the same sad-sack getting both cigarettes and scratch tickets. And to be honest, I do kind of feel bad for them.

But you know what, I'm a lard-ass because I'm in a gas station, buying soda. If I keel over in ten years, it's my own damn fault. We reap what we sow, simple as that.

Speaking of weight problems, one more life-affirming anecdote. Yesterday, I was getting a soda, and I hear a young girl behind me ask her mother, "Can I buy this gum?" The mother's response: "No, because it's full of sugar and it will make you fat."

Beyond the debate of how fattening gum that you spit out actually is (and the cold, delicious soda in my paw has it beat for sure), telling a young girl something will make her fat is not what I'd call a recipe for a healthy self image. I'm sure the girl is glancing over at me and thinking that if she's not careful, she too will end up as tubby as the creepy guy lustfully gripping sugar water. I'm also sure this is not the first time her mother has warned her about becoming fat. The same impulse that made me want to lecture the gambler makes me want to really go off on this woman for destroying her daughter's fragile ego.

Then a voice in my head says, You know, drinking soda is really bad for you, so I pay for my poison and go my not-so-merry way.