Growing up in a small town has its ups and downs, that’s for sure. While part of me misses small-town living, I couldn’t imagine living there ever again. It’s hard to live somewhere where everyone knows your business. But then again, there is no such thing as a small town any longer with the invention of Facebook and other social media sites. Everybody knows everybody’s business anyhow. However, the point of this blog is to do some reminiscing about a particular man who I saw everyday on my way to work in that small town when I was younger.
There weren’t many choices to grab a cup of coffee or get a pop other than the local gas station. Which was OK, coffee wasn’t exactly fancy back in the 80s, so the gas station would do. In fact, when I am back in town I still get coffee there. Anyhow, back to the Man. He was tall and muscular in his early thirties with long, flowing, dirty blonde hair that never seemed out-of-place. Her wore some kind of construction outfit always wearing plaid shirts, jeans, and work boots. Not the kind of man I am normally interested in, but that didn’t matter, he was just nice to look at. Kind of like looking at the diamond necklace in the jewelry store window, you know you aren’t going to get it, but it’s fun to wish.
He was always quiet, never saying a word, at least not audible enough for me to hear. It went this way for six months before he spoke to me. We standing next to the coffee machine and Fabio Jr. offered to pour me a cup.
“Here, let me get that for you” he said in the squeakiest Mickey Mouse voice you could ever imagine.
I kept my composure and thanked him for the coffee, ran to the counter to pay for it, and then out the door I went to my car. It didn’t take long for the tears of laughter to start rolling down my face. Talking about destroying a wet dream. I never went back to that gas station for many years after that. While I know he couldn’t help sounding like Mickey Mouse, it was than I could bear.