Something strange is afoot at the Circle K

(This is something that I wrote about a year ago, and have posted it here for two reasons. 1. I was reminded of it when I got fucking carded for booze the other night. 2. Karate fucking loves this story. And I love Karate. In a very hetero way.)


Keep in mind that when this happened this morning, I was in a great mood. I had just finished an hour and a half workout, one that left my brain and body on a euphoric high that was rivaled only like the likes of when Achilles destroyed Hector beneath the walls of Ilium. I felt great. I felt like I belonged on the planet, and my life somehow made sense. This is a rare occurrence for me.

I will try to describe the following story so that you can all understand the situation that commonly happens to me, but before I tell you my little ditty I need to explain two things that will help you understand the story.

1. I kinda don’t believe in Karma.

Obviously I need to explain. I don’t believe that when you are a bad person, bad things will happen to you. Or conversely, if you are a good person, good things will happen to you. I think that's all just a big bag of bullshit. This is not to say that I think that it gives people the right to run over puppy dogs with their automobile, while flipping small children off. I believe that there are good and bad things that are going to happen to you no matter what kind of person you are. You could be the best person on the planet and your mom might still get gang raped tomorrow. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Unless your mom wants to get gang raped, then I guess, good for her. All of that said, there is no better word than Karma to describe what happens to me all the time. (hence the kinda part) I would love to say that it is all my fault, and that I bring it on myself, but I promise I don't. My karma is the weirdest karma I have ever seen. It's pretty specific, and its not the "run of the mill" karma like locking your keys in your car, or your girlfriend bangin your brother. I've never had those problems.


2. I'm kinda an asshole.

Let me fill you in on what some of my worst qualities are. Most people think that I am a selfish, narcissitic, un-apologetic, tactless, fucking asshole. Have I, and in some instances am I that person? Probably. Are there other instances that I have been a good person? Absolutely. (hence the kinda part) I don't want to have some sort of list of when I'm an asshole, and when I am nice because that would be too time consuming. And fucking stupid. It is very hard for me to dispute it, although I don't really try. I'm not going to try to be a better person if it makes you like me more. Lets face facts people. If you already like me, than why should I change? All I will say is that there are worse perceptions for people to have. Like being a pederast, or stalker, or someone that enjoys larping. Have I been an asshole? Have I been un-apologetic? Have I been all of those things? Some more than others, but keep in mind that most of us have.

Now, assuming that you think that I am those things, you may believe that the Karmic fist of Buddha (or whatever fucking deity gave us Karma) beats me up pretty bad for being the all of the above. Well fuck you, because it doesn’t. Sure, I haven’t had the perfect life, I mean I’m no millionaire. I don’t have orgy’s every night. I’m not fucking Richard Branson’s daughter, but life has been pretty fucking good. On the downside, I am fat, been to jail numerous times, am only 5 foot 10, have a small penis….. blah blah blah… If Karma in fact was in charge of repaying me, I would have come off a lot worse.

BUT, there are other things in life that are extremely painful for me. These things are so painful that I would wish them on no one else. I know that what I am about to tell you seems pretty trivial, but trust me, its fucking not.

I have the worst fucking luck when it comes to purchasing anything, or dealing with any type of customer service. Yeah, I know. You’re saying to yourself, “fucking trivial”
The reason that it is not trivial, is because I have no fucking patience. None. Now add on to the fact that I utterly abhor stupid fucking people, and it makes me dealing with people in general excruciatingly painful. Now if you are dealing with people that cannot get a better job than Gas station attendant, or someone that cannot be gainfully employed anywhere better than a department store, or someone that does not have the mental stability or wherewithal to do anything in life other than get me some popcorn at the motherfucking movie theatre……. I will have a difficult time dealing with them.

First off, I know what your thinking. Your thinking that I am just fulfilling a stereotype that by working at a lowlevel service job, that person is stupid. I’m not, what I am saying is that there is a fucking reason that the stereotype is there. Most stereotypes are there for a fucking reason. Why do we think Chinese food is made from dog? Why do we think black people dangerous? Why do we complain that women are bad drivers? Because those stereotypes are prevalent. Sure, you once new a girl that drove better than Dario Franchitti, but that was one in a million and she was probably black and you were afraid of her.

Trust me when I tell you that my pain in dealing with these people is not fucking trivial. I would venture a guess that about 50% of the time I will have difficulty when I am purchasing a product, or trying to find some kind customer satisfaction in any way whatsoever. To add to the frequency of these occasions, they are also 50% worse than normal pain in the ass situations.

Sure some of you are thinking that maybe I expect a super high level of service, but trust me. I don’t. I am easy to please, I eat and drink basic foods, I don’t request unusual requests, I am NOT a pain in the ass to deal with.

Now I could give my good readers thousands of examples, but the following is a perfect example. It happened about an hour ago, in which I spent the last half hour typing this out, and the preceding half an hour shaking my fists in white hot rage while dripping sweat, screaming obscenities as I role-played the conversation with myself as I drove home from the convenience store….

After picking up coffee, I head down the street about 4 blocks to the Circle K. This specific Circle K has not always been a Circle K; I believe that it was a Dairy Mart until recently. Why do I know this? I have been going to this convenience store, on and off for about 4 years. I live on Sherwood Ave right now, I used to live on Longest, and before that I lived on Eastern Parkway . All of these locations are literally 2 blocks from this store.

I have been going to this store for so long that I know the manager. Of course not by name, but long enough to know that she is somewhat affable, likeable, and completely unfuckable. She lives in Bardstown KY , which in itself is pretty weird because it would probably take this manager about 45-55 minutes to get to work every morning. Now I don’t know about you, but there is no fucking way I would drive almost a fucking hour to work, if I was the manager of a convenience store. ANYWAY, the point of all this is…… I have been going to this store to get my smokes and penthouse’s for 4 fucking years.

So I walk into the store, get in line and ask for some Marlboro mediums. This is the ensuing conversation:

Clerk Do you have ID?
Me Are you serious?
Clerk Absolutely.
Me (this space is left intentionally blank because I am not speaking but staring at her like she is a fucking idiot)
Clerk (this space is left intentionally blank because she is now silent and is staring right back at me like I am a fucking idiot)
Me Are you fucking kidding me? What about the way I look right now suggests that I am 17 years old? Is it the 3 day growth of my beard?
Clerk Sir, we are required by law to ask for ID if you look under 25.
Me Really, you’re telling me that you think that I am under the age of 25?
Clerk Yes.
Me Listen you moron, I’m probably older than you fucking are. So just get my goddamn smokes.
Clerk No, if you don’t have ID, no smokes.
Me Does the law require you to be a functional fucking retard, or is that just a store policy?

At this point I storm out of the store, my mood completely reversed and am contemplating stabbing her with a frozen Charleston Chew candy bar that is in the store freezer by the ice cream. I jump in my car, head back to the house and get my wallet. There is no fucking way I am not marching back in to this fucking store and yelling at her some more after I show her that I am a month away from turning 32 fucking years old. Fuck her. I want to fist fuck her face until she looks like a boxer that just went 18 rounds with Evander Holyfield. I want pain to be inflicted.

I run into the house, grab my wallet, run back to the car and before you know it I am speeding back down the road and slamming on the brakes as I pull back into the parking space across the street from the store. Now keep in mind that I look like the ugly Baldwin on a 7 day meth bender. There is no fucking way that I look under the age of 29.

I have never been a self aware person, but at this point I know that I am red in the face, and my adrenalin is begging me to jump over the counter and murder her.

I storm back into the store, and this time no one is in line. I am not so much walking but rather, marching double time to the counter. This is where the conversation picks back up:

Me There, there’s my fucking license. READ IT! Do the math if you can, I’M THIRTY FUCKING ONE YEARS OLD!
Clerk You don’t have to yell at me, I am just doing my job.
Me Your job? Your job? What job is that? Being a fucking bitch, and making things inconvenient for me? I thought the premise behind being a convenient store, is to be convenient to the customer. How fucking old are you? HOW OLD? I bet I’m older than your fucking mother, who most likely had you when she was a teenager. I would tell you that you are going to be a failure for the rest of your life, but I am sure that you already fucking know that.

I really don’t remember the rest of the anything because I left the store with my smokes, swearing uncontrollably using words like fuck, cunt, whore, and probably some more fuck’s….

That fucking bitch knew I was over the age of 18, you know how I know? She had my smokes waiting for me when I came back. FUCKING WHORE.

She knew that I was coming back, she knew I was old enough, she knew all of it. She just wanted to use her station in life to wield some faux power over me and other consumers. Fuck her, I hope she burns in hell.

So that’s my Bad Karma people. I deal with people like this all the time. Every day. A trip to go buy groceries is not an easy thing. Picking up or dropping off my dry cleaning? Problems. Don’t even start with me about going to the DMV, or going to court to pay a speeding ticket. These things are all levels of Dante’s Inferno that most people have never been to.



Postscript: Since the above story happened to me (almost a year ago to the day) I have not been back into this specific Circle K. I now go to some low rent Bindian convenience store that reeks of curry, and is farther away. Fuck that dirty harlot.