Episode Forty Seven: Gas Station Reunion

 

Hello and welcome to the greatest blog about Quin and Tannenbaum on the internet! There is no shame in being the best. 😉

Just so that you know, I have kept my word. If you have the desire to watch a video of me playing a song badly on a borrowed ukulele, you can watch it on YouTube, or on Facebook, whichever you choose. I’m sure this will be a welcome addition to your Holiday traditions. I personally felt all worries and woes melt away in the wash of lovely musical melodies. The raving good looks of the musician didn’t hurt matter either. 😉

My book will be releasing soon, so please keep coming back for more surprising tidbits and updates.

Thanks so much for reading. -BW

The legs growing underneath Quin’s posterior tasted the ups and downs of the city hills for the first time. The hills left a bitter taste. By the time Quin found a decent place to buy a soda, he was dripping with sweat. Even the crested wave of hair on his forehead had begun to droop.

Quin pushed open the door to the Sinclair station and was met by a merciful rush of air conditioned breeze. Quin stood still for a moment, drinking in the cool atmosphere like a bottle of cola for a moment, his head back and his eyes closed, almost in a spirit of prayer when a man cussed at him and pushed him out of the doorway.

“The same to you, good sir.” Quin called after him, feeling a slight tingle of deja vu.

His attitude of thankfulness fulfilled, Quin sought out his heart’s desire, and found it in the third cooler from the back, beside a two liter of Mountain Dew.

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He carried it to the front, and stood in line behind an angry man with a gripe.

“What do I have to do to get a little service around here?” the man asked loudly. A little vein in his forehead throbbed and ebbed with every word that came out of his mouth. Quin thought it was the greatest fun to see him yell when he was mad. He couldn’t help thinking that if he were the attendant, that he would intentionally find ways to insult the man so that he could watch the vein throb again. And to the attendant’s credit, it seemed that she did invent things merely to get the man’s goat.

“I don’t want to tell you again, sir, that this is a self serve gas station.” the cashier said. The angry man’s back blocked Quin’s view of her, but her voice seemed strangely familiar. Perhaps every disagreeable gas station attendant sounds the same. That may be why to most people all cashiers tend to blend together, as if they are not a class of working people, but the same irritable person chewing gum.

Quin thinks that cashiers are wonderful people and the backbone of society. He is right. Nothing is a better democratic reminder that all men and women are created equal than to be insulted by a person bored with their job.

The man threatened to report the girl working behind the counter to her boss, the president of the company, and the God of the universe, but she only grunted disinterestedly in response. In a gesture of momentary surrender, the man threw up his hands and walked away with a red face.

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Quin stepped forward and waited for his compliment. Although he annoys people to a degree uncommon to man, when Quin is compared with an impatient or unpleasant person, by nature of being slightly friendly and patient, Quin seems to be light years above and beyond the average sorehead. Whenever a person in line ahead of Quin acts out in his or her anger (which seems to happen a lot with people waiting in line) the cashier takes in a deep breath, opens their eyes, and looks into the quizzical and thankful face of Quin, and thinks to themselves what a nice person he must be. Naturally, they know nothing of his eccentric traits, but it’s a nice thought for them to have, anyway. Invariably, they thank him for being patient and pleasant, and then ring up his soda for him.

This time the attendant did not compliment him.

Quin thought it odd. Almost as odd as the attendant, who tried to do her job without the benefit of her eyes, which were buried in a book of depressing poetry. The only pieces of her that were visible were her forehead and her left arm, which looked familiar to Quin.

“Nice book.” Quin said. “Haven’t you come to the section by Shelly yet?”

Thanks for reading!

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