Rant o' the day: The Drop

My engine is fueled on Dr Pepper. Lots of it. Given that, I usually make a break for the local convenience store to get my 32-ounce fix before I start work, or sometimes, when a shift is over.

The slackjawed dipshits working the counter at these convenience stores reflect every other slackjawed aspect of our society.

You can set your watch to their rudeness, either not acknowledging the customer at all, or, talking on their cell phones about who they blew at the bar the night before while waiting on you ... and your small children.

"Daddy, what does 'deep throat' mean? And what was that silly lady talking about? How did she bruise the back of her head on the toilet seat?"

"Uh, she's pretending?"

They display the most transparent level of obligatory customer service possible, such as ringing up your shit and then droning in a sub-monotone, "Did you find everything OK?"

Oh thanks King/Queen Helpful! And a thousand thanks for asking! No I actually didn't find what I needed, I actually meant to buy Havoline motor oil, a rubber hood ornament of a day-glo green alien smoking a cigarette, ten packets of Stacker2, and a gross of Sex Panther from the bathroom vending machine, but I'm so confused by the Byzantine ways of the Circle K, that I ended up with this Dr Pepper and pack of Life Savers instead.

Help me! Please! I need help from someone who thinks Kid Rock's Warren Zevon/Lynryd Skynryd ripoff is the history's highest point of being "the shit".

But that day-to-day bullshit just washes over you after a while ... except The Drop.

Convenience stores across the nation go into Defcon-1 mode when its time for The Drop. I mean, I get it, you don't want to be held up by Joe Crackhead for all of your gas and 99-cent-bag-of-Funyun money.

That's fine, it's a necessary evil. Does it have to be a necessary evil when I'm fucking waiting in line?

I must be the Gene Mauch of being first in line when The Drop is planned, I get stuck there at the counter with my veritable dick in my hand every time. I've had it happen when I was line by myself, I've had it happen where they did The Drop when I was mid-line and the last person in line.

It's fucking infuriating, especially when the lottery-addicted, cigarette-smoking clown in front of you who wants to spend $50 bucks on 50 different lotto tickets and who can't decide between Salem soft-pack or a Harley-Davidson box, gets waited on hand-over-foot in front of you because they cracked a Git-R-Dun joke.

Do they even train customer service anymore? I always thought that you were supposed to deal with company business when there were no customers to wait on, not to make the customers wait on you.

The worst for me was last week. Ordered some carryout and went into a Speedway to grab a drink. I was the only one in there and dude behind the counter was crouched in front of the safe doing The Drop.

I wasn't a dick, I stood there for a minute or three. No acknowledgement, no nothing. So I started the subtle, rude shit of my own: clearing my throat, jingling my keys, etc. No dice. Finally, I go up to him and said, "Excuse me?" This dude, who weighed in pretty hefty and who was apparently trying to beat the dude from Knocked Up in beard thickness, gave me the dirtiest look conceivable and said he'd be there in a minute.

Scorsese On Cocaine was the last straw. This Drop shit was infuriating. I really wanted to go Menace II Society on him, but I'd definitely be going out like Willie Lump-Lump with my lack of crime history, and, uh, lack of a weapon. So I put my drink next to the register and opened the door to exit ...

When the doorbell rang, Scorsese On Cocaine emerged from his crouch with all of the bumbling grab-ass grace of Willis from The Jeffersons. "Wait sir, I'm so sorry for your inconvenience."

I should have kept going, but I was thirsty, so I paid in silence. And when he said thank you for shopping at Speedway, I said nothing, I just shot him a dead-eyed Daniel Plainview glare that said, "One night I'm gonna come to you, inside of your house, wherever you're sleeping, and I'm gonna cut your throat."

God I hate The Drop.

 

You should be a writer.

 

Wow. What just happened?

 

Bravo.

 

That's not "The Drop" I expected.

 

Me either. And I'm glad about that.

 

I'm concerned. You drink Dr Pepper every day?

 

Oh yeah. I'm a Pepper.

 

That was my exact thought. Everything else sort of blurred in the background after that revelation.

 

I'd be more concerned about having a veritable dick.

 

Obviously, you didn't get the joke I referenced.

 

Always within your genius is the sublime.