This past weekend I stopped to purchase a Diet Coke at the BP gas station; to slake my thirst - and - whilst waiting in the omni-present queue of a certain Farmington Hills BP gas station, I begin my usual "R.O.E. inspection" of the denizens within the fine establishment ... Taking a mental inventory of who is purchasing their 5 dollar pack of coffin nails, scarfing up the latest copy of Hustler magazine, orally supplanting their thunder-thighs with a Slurpie and a Twinkie, etc. ... When my attention immediately turns to the disheveled gentleman just in front of me ... As he, and our "Hazel Park Honey" BP Attendant, were attempting to put $20 of gas (@100 miles of travel) on his DEBIT card. The clerk tried it 2 or 3 times; yet with every swipe: the card is rejected. Huh. Surely there is some issue with this gent's Grand Cayman bank account?
And, stop calling me Shirley ...
Our fearless road warrior then proceeds to pull out a wad ... No other word will suffice here ... He literally produces a wad of paper currency - ala Penn and Teller - from his pocket; and proceeds to fish through the monetary mess for the bill of largest denomination. This proves to be a 10 spot. Huzzah! Surely he will be able to produce another tenner ... Or a miniature copy of the Declaration of Independence? Interestingly, no. As he hands over the crumpled ten-spot, he proudly instructs our toothless Purveyor of Petrol to dole out "10 dollars of your finest distillate!" and begins the process of cramming said "fist full of dollars" back into his pocket ...
Suddenly something dawns on him! Could it be that he will now be limited to a mere 50 miles of conveyance? Only to travel over the river and through the woods to Grandma's, but never to return to Detroit?!?! Or, what about the original Grail-like quest of twenty dollars of gasoline for his fine steed? Just as he is shoving the mass of moola back into his pocket - like pushing a baby back into a vagina - he had stopped and re-produced his ball of loot. This time, within milliseconds, he peels off - or was it corkscrews out - a George Washington. A single buck. Will this extra .25 of a gallon now allow him to idle just down the block from Grandma's house while he smokes some hydro on the d-lo? Or, is it 55 - not 50 - miles to his private jet at Detroit Metro Airport?
Clearly, yet not visually tipping his psyche, the gentleman was shaken by the entire turn of events. What, with his off-shore bank accounts being in disrepair and having grabbed his wife's wad of singles - extracted from her g-string the night before - he quickly enacted his "Life Recovery Plan". Armed with 10 dollars of gasoline, his stoic countenance and the raisin-like dollar bill - he commands our BP shop keeper: "Give me ONE Mega-Millions lottery ticket!" What a visionary! His plan - while simplistic in nature - will cover all his woes ... Including his eminent stranding at Grandma's house.
Never underestimate the power of a dollar bill ... Even if it only takes you 5 miles, tips your stripper or fills your nostril with booger sugar.
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2 comments:
One of the funniest stories I've ever read. On the order of Menken's "A Bum's Christmas", published annually by the WSJ.
I need clarification on the symbol of our order.
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