Morning Time. The Gas Station.
I know. It’s my second Journal Entry about “The Gas Station.”
The Station has two Registers. One Employee at each Register.
I’m standing at one Register, and a younger guy, in his twenties, is at the next Register.
I notice that he is buying the High Dollar Beef Jerky.
When I say “High Dollar,” I mean it. I once bought it, but it was for a Special Occasion.
“Jerky,” as we call it, is big business in the South.
They make all types, including everything from Snake to Kangeroo.
I’ve even had Camel Jerky. —It tasted like Chicken.
I’m standing there wondering if the fella knows how much that Jerky is.
And I immediately think, “I’m about to have a story to write…”
He’s bought several other items. Probably twelve bucks worth. Im guessing, though.
“Your total is $42.78. Oh, wait. That can’t be right,” says the lady at the Register.
The guy says, “It’s right. It’s the Jerky. It’s 27.00 Dollars.”
And I think, “Thanks for ruining my story, fella…”
The guy knows his Jerky.
