Empty Calories & Male Curiosity, #19

Yes I Eat Gas Station Chicken, You Got A Problem With That???

QUICK HITTERS:

1. This week’s book recommendation is The Wide Wide Sea, by Hampton Sides. At 432+ pages this is one of those books that seems intimidating at first until you realize that with reference list and pictures it is much shorter. It tells the story of Captain Cook’s third voyage and eventual death in Hawaii. Like Columbus, Cook’s legacy has come under increased scrutiny as of late. This book does a good job detailing all of the incredible aspects of this last journey and juxtaposing it with some of the horrible consequences it had on indigenous peoples.

   

   Maverick the wiggle worm.

2. Last week I asked you if you’d be interested in a Make America Smart Again t-shirt and 71% of you said yes (My dad said he doesn’t wear hats but otherwise he’d buy one. Solid logic.)

   More on this later.

3. On this week’s episode of the SilentPunt Podcast Travis & I discussed gardening (here). I may or may not have forgotten what a pickle was 😬. In OVERTIME I ask Travis why he’s a Mets fan and our brief conversation devolves into our shared enjoyment of radio broadcasts and MLB box scores.

4. This week’s poll reflects our desire to talk about movies & TV…

   (A note about reading below: If you read this in your email the footnotes are difficult to navigate. If you read it at Substack.com or in the Substack app they are super easy. Just put your cursor over the footnote number and it pops up on your screen. Message or text me if you want help.)

GOING DEEP:

Yes I Eat Gas Station Chicken, You Got a Problem With That???

I was in our local gas station/convenience store the other day to pick up some chicken wings. Yes, I eat gas station chicken wings…who are you to judge, Colonel Sanders? 

Anyway, my guy was working.

Yes, I have a gas station chicken guy, I just told you not to judge.

I don’t know the guy’s name…he doesn’t wear a name tag and is usually dressed in jeans with a random t-shirt and ballcap on. The only reason I even know he’s an employee there is because very occasionally he is working the register. Otherwise he just loiters.

Every time I go in to pick up chicken¹ there is extra chicken in my box. Sometimes he cheerfully tells me why “ah, we only had a few left so I just threw ‘em all in” and sometimes he just hands me the box, smiles, and says “have a great day Henny!”

When I was in 11th grade our high school cafeteria added a Pizza Hut station. Every day they’d have fresh, hot pizza delivered from the Hut available for purchase. It put the cafeteria pizza to shame. 

For the first few months of the school year I avoided the Pizza Hut line. Don’t get me wrong, I love pizza from the Hut. I remember “reading” all of those books in elementary school to get free personal pan pizza².

However, when it came to this 16 year old’s bang for his buck the Hut just didn’t measure up. I could spend my money elsewhere in the cafeteria and get a much higher caloric count. 

Eventually I decided to hop in the Pizza Hut line and get a slice. As I walked up to the checkout lady with my delicious slice of pepperoni in hand her eyes brightened and she said, “Hi Henny.” I very eloquently replied, “uhhhh.”

Apparently at 16 I was just as adept at talking to fifty-year old lunch ladies as I was 16 year old girls. Maybe the fact that my mother dressed me like this as a youngster had something to do with it….

I was in my ‘Village People Era’

She introduced herself as “Mrs. H” and said she knew my parents and to tell them she said hello. I’m not positive but “uh, ok” was my most likely retort. As I extended my hand with cash to pay she smiled and shooed me away. Then she leaned in and whispered to me to just leave and take the pizza. There were kids behind me in line waiting to pay and I quickly got her drift and left the line. 

16 year old me did NOT have Mr. Chow swagger.

That evening when I reported this to my folks they filled me in that she was the sister of one of my dad’s good friends.

Weeks passed before I decided again to attempt to spend my money on that savory, salty, ooey-gooey yet crunchy at the same time completely bangable mistress that is a slice of Pizza Hut pizza. By now I had noticed that Mrs. H worked the Hut line exclusively. So I prepared myself to have an actual human interaction as I approached her.³

Who woulda thunk a guy that dressed like this as a boy would struggle communicating with others later on in life….

Easter Sunday, circa 1983-ish.

The year rolled on and Mrs. H continued to provide me with that sweet Pizza Hut dopamine hit that only sugar-laden red sauce and nitrate rich pepperoni could provide. Every week I would have cash in hand as I approached her and every week she’d wave me along. 

I’m guessing it was January before I was comfortable enough to leave the cash in my pocket as I approached her. I even pressed my luck a few times and got two slices, thinking maybe this time she’d make me fork over some dough. Nope. Still free. 

There were a couple of weeks where I even got up the gumption to go through the Hut line on two separate days in the same week. Again, this felt like I was pressing my luck. Like I had been given Eden but just had to take a bite of that stupid frickin apple. But she never questioned me. Always a smile and by that point some friendly banter.

Come to think of it, maybe I have Mrs. H to thank for planting the seed that helped me blossom into the absolute cassanova that I became (sarcasm font activated).

And to think, it all started like this…

On second thought, maybe I did have Mr. Chow swagger.

I’m not positive why gas station man gives me free chicken. And, although I know why Mrs. H initially gave me free pizza, I don’t know why she continued to do so all the way until the end of the school year.

So what is the point of all of this?

When I think back to Mrs. H I wonder how in the world I didn’t eat that pizza every day. I guess it’s the same reason I worry about going to the gas station chicken well too often. These people like me enough to give me something for free. And I don’t want to take advantage of that.

Pigs get fed, hogs get slaughtered.

These days I have enough money that I could eat gas station chicken every day if I wanted to. If there is not yet a specific definition of what being rich is that might just be it.

Recently I’ve heard “the kids” talking about “financial flexes.” For old heads like me that is basically youngster-speak that describes the act of bragging about how rich you are.

A financial flex? I never even knew that was a thing. Because I am not an a**hole.

Or maybe I am. 

But Mrs. H and gas station chicken guy don’t think so. 

And that’s good enough for me.

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1. It’s not that often, I promise.

2. Reading is in quotes because I never really read any of those books.

3. For those of you that are not introverts this may come as news. But yes, we very often have to prepare ourselves for human interaction.