Ohio Girl

I stop almost every morning at the same convenience store where I purchase some form of caffeine and a protein bar. I am convinced that the protein bar is way better for me than the candy bar that I really want. I don’t buy a banana, though, which would be better than both.

The convenience store is at a crossroads; it marks the intersection of those heading from country to city--or vice versa—although there is far less of the vice versa crowd. The parking lot is often full of trucks loaded down with farm gear and it is not unusual for a man to say “M’am” all while nodding, tipping his hat, and holding the door. I LOVE that, I must admit.

I pulled in today behind a beater pick-up loaded down with rusted, scrap metal—so rusted, so deeply brown, it reminded me of the shaved milk chocolate on the top of a fancy cake. I see people scrapping all the time lately. Folks have come knocking at the door offering to haul away Grandpa’s old tractors and split the proceeds. Many of the cases in my recent grand jury service involved people scrapping the junked-out cars of other people, without permission.

A man, with greased-lined cracks in his hands and beer on his breath, said “well hello” as he held the door. No hat, no “m’am.” His own beater truck was filled with barefoot children and a woman giving me the look of death as he looked me up and down. He looked at my empty, rust-free car with the same leer.

Another man came in, interrupting my pleasantries with the clerk, to ask for four dollars in gas—not even enough for a gallon. He was hurried with furrowed brow and muttered his hope that it would be enough to get him the rest of the way home.

A man with too much cologne was using the pay phone as I left. It was the first time I had seen a pay phone, much less one in use, in ages. I heard him ask the person on the other end if there was work today. He looked back at his truck filled with tools and asked if there might be work Monday then. His voice was over-calm.

When I got in the car the radio was announcing cheap gas spots in the area. As I pulled out another beater truck was pulling in. No farm gear, no hat, and I was already missing the “m’am.”