“HOW MUCH IS CHEESE?” the cashier asked his partner at the checkout.
I stared blankly at the small block of pepperjack and a Pomegranate Blueberry V8 I’d tossed up on the counter. Eight minutes passed before the Cenex employees realized there was a little lady standing in front of them, the same little lady that had struggled to reach the V8 on the top shelf of the cooler moments earlier. This wouldn’t be the first time.
“A dollar fourteen,” the other cashier replied. I grew somewhat embarrassed, as the store was busy and I was ashamed to have it known that I was buying a block of cheese. Honestly, who buys gas station cheese? Any common human would have walked into that convenience store and made a beeline for the Mountain Dew and Dorito’s.
But this was my road trip, and if I were going to travel a lone journey across the rolling hills of North Dakota, I was going to do it just the way I wanted it done. So I threw down $3.08 for my munchies and headed for my vehicle, 100 some odd miles left to go and less-than-desirable weather conditions. Lovely.
“Turn your brights off…”
I curse to myself under my breath as yet another conveyance nearly blinds me upon passing. The roads are sloppy, in no condition for speeding. I keep hearing a voice in the back of my mind, “Ma’am, I caught you going 50 in a 75. Can I see your license and registration please…” With my luck this is not so farfetched.
Two vehicles ahead, a driver conveniently decides to pull to the side of the road. A sticky situation has arisen as I frantically pump on my breaks to slow, fishtailing, in and out of lanes avoiding a near collision. I solemnly swear, my father (who taught me to drive) and Imogen Heap (playing through the speakers at the time) saved me from that close call.
The roads were too menacing to take my hand off the wheel long enough to twist the cap off of my juice concoction. I ate $1.59 worth of my snack, danced in my seat. Sang aloud to the upbeat shuffle of my iPod, announced to everyone in the car, my solitary self in particular, where I was.
“LAAAAAAADIES AND GENTLEMAN. Coming to you live from JAMESTOWNNNNN NORTH DAKOTAAAAA…”
Three hundred miles up the road, bright lights signaled a familiar place.
Home.
Never have I been so delighted to eat homemade leftovers or see my dog who, if my memory serves me right, hasn’t liked me since 2001.
Oh, and my family! It’s so swell to see them as well!
I am thoroughly looking forward to a good night’s rest, swaddled in 600-count sheets and soaked in sweet dreams of pepperjack cheese and sleeping in…
Home. Nice.
approximatelyes.com 