Dave, You Smell More Like Coconut Than Usual

The first thing that I noticed (in the retail world) when I got back from Zambia was the wide variety of things out there for American consumers to choose from. For the past two years I had, for the most part, two pop choices: cola or orange. Now when I go to a store, I can have my cola in diet, caffeine free, caffeine free diet, cherry, wild cherry, diet cherry, diet wild cherry, vanilla, lemon, diet vanilla, diet lemon or chocolate. With all of these choices, why would I ever drink plain cola? And another thing: what the hell happened to Crystal Pepsi? I for one miss it.

Then there's the candy bars. The candy bars that didn't have caramel in them before do now. There are also peanut butter versions of quite a few of the old favorites; not to mention cookies and cream; or almonds; or marshmallows; or graham crackers; or nougat; or taurine.

Americans have more choices than ever and more reason to stand, befuddled, in the candy isle of the Mini Mart.

Now I feel like I should speak out against this. I should make some sort of digital stand. But the truth is, I dig it. I'm proud to live in a country where I can eat four different flavored Snicker's bars in one day and wash them down with a diet-caffeine free-wild cherry-vanilla Dr. Pepper. God Bless America.

In fact, I'm thinking of applying this mentality to my personal life. Maybe people are getting a little tired of Original Dave. Maybe I need to spice it up a bit. It could even be a limited time thing. Just a little boost to the brand name to get people looking my way again. I've tried Diet Dave, and it left me wanting. So maybe I'll just add more peanut butter.

Questions and Answers

Questions I can’t answer:
“Does this store carry baby spoons?”
“Which one of these lotto tickets is the big winner?”
“What does this unmarked sucker cost?”
“Why is it so friggin’ hot in here?”
“What on earth is that smell?”
"What's the Iowa Loaf lunch meat made out of?"

Answers I can’t give:
“I don’t know why the gas pump isn’t working. Maybe it’s because you’re stupid.”
“No, I’m sorry- I can’t give you any cigarettes on account of your hacking cough.”
“Sure I’ll slice the meat thinner. Then it will be easier for you to shove it up you’re a**.”
“No there aren’t any more buy one, get one Marlboros. Please go away.”
“I think I know your brother. Have I heard about his new job? Well, the problem is, I just don’t care.”
“I don’t know how many gummi worms you can buy for $.63, and I refuse to sell any to you until you figure it out on your own.”

What Are You Beeping About?

There are a number of things that beep and or tweet in the Mini Mart. The coffee brewer beeps twice when it's done. The door beeps thrice when a customer enters. The gas pump monitor beeps when someone has finished pumping. It tweets repeatedly when I fail to authorize a previous pump before a new customer tries to pump. The cash register chirps every time I hit the right button. If I happen to hit the wrong button (which could be any of the buttons at any given time), it seems to scream at me. It's not an enraged scream. It's not even that loud. It's just incessant, like a battalion of irritated mosquitoes humming a unison pitch in their own tiny double forte. Most of the time I can stop the machine from doing this without completely ruining the transaction. Sometimes, I just have to start over.

I've gotten used to most of these sounds. I don't even really hear them anymore. Last night, however, the computer that monitors the fuel tanks started to go off. It was a high-pitched whine that went off and turned on at irregular intervals. It could be heard all over the store. I was told to "just put up with it."

At first I did "just put up with it." I went about my regular routine. I stocked pop. I Windexed every glass surface I could find. I drew the illustration for this blog entry. After a while though, I noticed a splitting head ache that was creeping up on me. I started to drop things. After six hours I was irritable. I told customers to "count their own damn change."

"Oh alright," they conceded, "say, what's that sound?" In response, I only giggled maniacally while wiping the counter in front of them and staring them directly in the eye. They paid for their handful of Tootsie Rolls and left.

By 10:20, I wasn't even sure of my name anymore. I locked the outside ice coolers and went to my car. I turned the ignition and a Barenaked Ladies song was on the radio. I wondered what they were so damn happy about.

I opened the window and tuned into a talk radio station.