So today I was on my way from Buffalo to New Jersey and decided to take a little detour and stop at the rest stop to empty my bladder and grab a little snack. After comforting Boots and escaping from the vehicle without letting him escape as well, I made my way into one of New York’s finest facilities. Although I was about ten percent of the rest stop’s guest count, I found the bathroom in a state of utter disarray. Unfortunately, it took me like twenty tries to find a bathroom stall that was clean enough to barely pass my inspection, and eagerly changed its vacant status.

After relieving myself, I washed up (which was difficult considering the fact that the sink situation was almost as horrific as the stall situation) and decided to check out the rest stop McDonald’s to curb my hunger.

As I approached the counter, the two workers eagerly perked up at the possibility of a potential customer and both employees excitedly resumed their positions at the cash registers. They both looked at me, anticipating what I might decide to order and I couldn’t help but wonder why they BOTH grabbed the nearest cash register, considering that I was only one, lone customer.

As I examined the menu I was displeased to notice that this McDonald’s did not have a dollar menu. Of course – the Thruway has to rob you of every available penny with $9.00 hamburgers and $5.00 bags of Twizzlers. I tried to find what I thought would be the cheapest thing on the menu – chicken nuggets. I was rudely surprised to find out that this McDonald’s four piece chicken nuggets was $5.98. And the six piece nuggets were in the seven dollar range. “Ugh,” I thought, debating in my head whether or not I was hungry enough to spend a dollar fifty per nugget. After a silent debate I decided that I was famished enough to splurge on this “highway robbery” (haha, get it?).

“I’ll take the four piece chicken nuggets, please,” I said, to neither employee in particular because I wanted to see who could type the order in the fastest. “Our smallest McNugget size is the six piece, would you like that one?” responded the employee with the huge gap between her two front teeth. I was pretty sure that I would be able to shove a whole nugget through that gap, holy crap. I immediately made the decision that I was not willing to spend an hour of my call center job’s pay on a measly six nuggets and told the worker with the grand canyon sized tooth gap, “I’m not that hungry, I don’t need your nuggets.” She looked at me shocked, and I could see the tip of her tongue twitching between her teeth as she debated whether or not to say something. Her eyes glanced over to her quiet associate and they both silently conversed via eye contact that I was some sort of weirdo not willing to pay out the ass for six little nuggets.

I turned and made my way out of the very unaccommodating rest stop, and arrived back at the car to find a meowing Boots, who seems perturbed that I had left him alone in the car for a whole five minutes. I stopped at the gas pump and once again escaped from the vehicle without Boots. Since I was born and raised in New Jersey, I still have trouble pumping my own gas and am very irritated every time I am forced to do so, as I yearn for the little gas man to come up to my window asking what kind and how much. How unfortunate that I decided to go to school in New York, where this gas pumping treatment is nonexistent (frown). As I began pumping my gas, I somehow wedged my finger in the pump. I struggled to free my poor throbbing phalange, and was incredibly unsuccessful as gas started dripping out of the pump and onto my shoe. “Oh goodness,” I thought to myself as I couldn’t believe this unfortunate series of rest stop events. I finally freed my now numb finger and proceeded to finish pumping my gas. Finally I finished, placed the pump back in its proper position, and jumped back into my car. After thoroughly wiping my hands with a convenient wet-nap (I keep these germ-fighting napkins in my car specifically for gas pumping), Boots and I settled back in and continued on the last half of our journey home…

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2 Responses

  1. Anonymous

    Well done. I must say im very jealous that you have gas pumpers in jersey. Why dont we have those in Buffalo where the weather is twice as shitty!? Hope the finger feels better.

    -Your 6th Reader-

  2. Anonymous

    Hahahaha, this is hilarious! I must say, I thoroughly enjoy your colorful descriptions and use of adjectives! Keep cracking me up, MelGro. ;)



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