Gastronome Station

I'm going to be honest with you here. I love gas station food.

I walk into a convenience store and I'm drawn to the glow of the heat-lamp. I'm hypnotized by the hot dogs, polish sausage and egg rolls spinning endlessly on their heated rollers. The neat rows of sandwiches and burgers wrapped in their wax paper share the promise of delicious low-grade meat and processed cheese that's constantly changing state. The last corn dog calls out to me.

Then there's the aisle of colorful plastic bags filled with snacks. I marvel at the sour creams and onion, the BBQ s, the salt and vinegars. Why would anyone buy plain chips? I can't count the number of Doritos varieties, so I won't even try. I long to leap head-long into this aisle and to immerse myself in powdered cheese and spices.

So I make sure that I don't "pay at the pump". I grab a bag of nacho cheese/mesquite/super spicy ranch corn chips and then on to the comforting glow of the warmer where I grab a precious, wrapped bundle of bun and beef. There's a jack-o-lantern orange cheese flow solidified and protruding from a fold. I'm feeling groggy for some reason, so next I visit the cooler where I grab a twenty-four ounce can of something with a picture of a cobra on the outside that promises to make me function better than I ever thought possible. I'm on my way to the register when I pass the bakery shelves. There's still room in my arms for some deep-fried dough covered in a thick sugar glaze. It was twice the price yesterday.

Score.

I almost get to the register when I see that corn dog all by itself. It's just not right.

"Come along with us, little buddy. Your wait is over," I say.

No, I don't need my receipt.

But I will need a bag.

Perspective

My Saturday Afternoon was consumed by an Online Course. The Course crawled from the murky waters of the internet and swung its moss-covered head this way and that, looking for nourishment. That’s when it saw My Saturday Afternoon sitting peacefully and without defense. The Online Course showed no mercy. It pounced on my Saturday Afternoon and feasted until all was dark. My Saturday Afternoon never even saw it coming.

The Online Course was terrifying, but a necessary evil. It required PayPal and downloading additional programs and two hours of reading, broken only by five-question quizzes that tested mostly my ability to tolerate stupid questions. But I had been worrying about this course for some time and I wanted it to be finished.

So I paid the fifty dollars for The Online Course and diligently read every word provided. I took the quizzes and thought about every stupid question. I made it all the way to the thirteenth and final quiz. I finished the last question and waited for the computer to erupt in flows of congratulations and provide me with some sort of proof that I had sacrificed my dear Saturday Afternoon. Instead, there was nothing.

I stomped and frothed and then I moped and whined and then I searched and scraped. I finally clicked on “contact us” and contacted them; or, rather, I attempted to make contact. Like the messages scientists think up when trying to make contact with aliens, I had not much hope of the letter yielding any real results.
So I was surly when my mother asked if I wanted to go for a ski in the full moon light of My Saturday Night. I said I would, but grumbled and complained that my back ached. I had a hard time getting the skis on and I yelled at the dog that didn’t really deserve to be treated so harshly.

When we finally started to ski, I was skiing with anger.

We had made a right off of the main trail when I really started in. I was making long quick strides. I wasn’t enjoying myself and I wanted the whole world to know how angry I was and how valid that anger was. I had been mistreated. I had followed all the rules and paid my money and still had nothing to show. The more I thought about it, the harder I skied.

Swing, stick, slide… swing, stick, slide… SWING, stick, sllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiddddddeeeeeee…

Finally it was all too much.

Then I remember the silhouettes of my skis in front of my face and a moment where I was suspended in air. I hit the ground very hard on my back and I could see my breath rush out and up as if set free after a long incarceration.
I sat there for a moment and looked at the stars through the black and veiny limbs of trees. Then I heard my mom’s voice.
“Maybe we should go back.”
“Just give me a second,” I said.

I hoisted myself off the ground and looked around. The moonlight reflected off the snow and the ground seemed to glow all around us. Even the dark forms of trees were highlighted where the snow clung to their limbs. The dappled floor of the forest gave the impression that we were standing in the middle of a violent sea that had been frozen for a moment. Everything was quiet and still in a way that is impossible to imagine in the light and warmth of day.

“I think I’m ready to go on now,” I said.