By Timothy T. Tater, Editor and Chief Spud
The Sweet Potato
You know what’s amazing? How the moment you need to grab a bottle of water and get back to your car, the universe conspires to place you behind what I can only assume is the entire board of directors for Big Tobacco and the state lottery commission.
There you are, clutching your single item like it’s a golden ticket, watching in horror as Customer #1 requests “a pack of Marlboro Lights… no wait, make that Reds… actually, do you have those in menthol?” Meanwhile, they’re scratching off a lottery ticket with the intensity of an archaeologist uncovering ancient hieroglyphs, periodically asking the clerk to scan random tickets to see if they’re winners.
Customer #2 has apparently decided to stock up for the apocalypse, requesting seventeen different scratch-offs while explaining their “system” to anyone within earshot. “I always get three of the crossword ones and two of those with the dice, but only if it’s Tuesday.”
By Customer #3, you’ve entered the acceptance stage of grief. This person is conducting what can only be described as a tobacco sommelier consultation, asking about the difference between various brands like they’re selecting a fine wine. They finally settle on their choice, then casually mention they’d also like to cash in this crumpled grocery bag full of lottery tickets they’ve been saving since 2019.
Why isn’t there a “Cigarettes and Gambling Express Lane”? Better yet, why not just set up a whole separate store called “Vices-R-Us” right next door? Leave the convenience store for people who actually need convenient things, like emergency snacks and overpriced phone chargers.
Instead, here we all stand, united in our shared suffering, watching someone debate whether to get the $5 scratch-off or the $10 one while our ice cream melts, our cold drinks get hot and our hot drinks get cold.
The convenience store: where time stands still and hope goes to die.