Convenient

I read in the archaic newsprint that a convenience store was forcibly parted from its cash in the early hours of Wednesday morning. This gas station is conveniently on the way to a drinking buddy's house, so needless to say I have stopped there hundreds of times. But it being Friday, I felt distanced and inquisitive about the situation regarding the robber. Had I unknowingly exchanged looks with this guy standing in line?

Had he counted change to the sum of a pack of cigarettes in front of me or stared at the back of my head as we waited to buy beer? Could I ask the clerk about the incident without seeming guilty? Constantly seeming guilty, even for the actions of others, is one of the more incriminating traits I possess; my mother says it's because I can't tell a lie, but I'm truthful and nervous to the point that it seems I could have been involved in the murder of JFK, the theft of the Mona Lisa, and jay-walking in the process.

On the drive, I thought about just pulling in to another gas station. The beer's the same, the staff as helpful, and the patrons as pleasant. But then I realized I had a pen and paper to write down all the answers to all the questions I could ask, which led me to believe that theoretically, I could Dick Tracy the hell out of this incident and solve the crime. I'd be given a reward, and for my money (which is about none), any clams is a feast.

I sauntered in the door, at least, as smoothly as an awkward guy can saunter. Grabbed the six-pack of beer and stood in line for the counter. Without hesitation, I showed the kind woman at the counter my ID, all the time suspecting she'd think it were a fake, even though it was issued by the DMV itself. The last thing I need is having the cops called on me; I'm sure those parking tickets from Kentucky have been unpaid for at least 2 years. I've heard they go to warrant.

I calmly requested, without imperative, mind you, a pack of rolling papers. I roll my own cigarettes because it's extremely cost-effective. I suspect she took me for a pot head. I probably would have accused myself of the same in her shoes.

Total: $9.07. I have a ten and twenty in my wallet. I hand her some bill, a 50/50 chance it being twenty. She hands me $0.93 and I put it in the pouch in my wallet reserved especially for coins and arcade tokens.

Without thinking, as she turns to set up some beef jerky or cigarette display as part of her shitty minimum-wage-for-the-desperate job, I stare her deadpan in the face and say "Um, I need the change." It may have been some subconscious aversion to gas station attendants, but the look on her face seemed dumb. Again, I say "Yes, the ten."

Without blinking she replies "You gave me a ten, I gave you ninety three cents," with a look of incrimination reserved for those with enough brains to realize they've been caught trying to short change a third shift gas station employee two days after a robbery.

Red with shame, I return to my car and drive off to drink.