2/21/2003

2/21/2003 - 12:00

The oddity of the fire ball in the sky was unnerving. February on the north coast of Ohio offers few greetings from our closest star, let alone a warm (39) day with full-on sun shine. I squinted in my car to the dairy mart at the corner after work and pulled up to one of the pumps, not to feed my thirsty sled but to clean the glare causing crusty salt caked on her windshield. I struggled with the morality of using their wash and squeegee without buying gas. Struggled for a second. I needed smokes, so if I bought them there that would offset the karma.

I ordered two packs of lucky strikes and the thirty-something hispanic clerk's eyes opened big and looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. He took a few steps backwards and broke his stare, now looking for the cigarettes. He stopped looking and said "the ones without the filters?". Affirmative. Back to the hunt, he stopped again, "Are these for you?". Again, affirmative. I thought he was going to card me. "Because that's what I smoke, lucky strikes." He looked at me like a kindred spirit, I noticed his eyes: yellow, dilated, red and shiny. Oh, I thought, I need to respond here, "If you're gonna smoke, you'd might as well smoke." Weak banter-I just want my smokes and to go home. Bleep bleep-he scanned the small white packages he found in the place he looked twice earlier. Expensive, I thought.

Walking out into the bizarre February sun after the creepy clerk encounter, I felt confident that my karmic dues had been paid. I've also a stong urge to switch brands.

Dharma that.