How many times have you been on a trip… OFF the interstate… lately? The Quicky-Marts quickly turn into the Quirky-Marts the farther up into the hills you get. You may have to squint to find the parts of the store that you recognize, here, but take the time. For the Funny’s sake.
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I know this place.
The sign out front says ” Bait, Bullets & Beer ”
The Night crawlers are in the cooler next to the beer.
OOPS. Sorry, the place I stop at also sells fireworks.
Nothing says fun, like a case of beer, a dozen roman candles and a fistfull of M80s.
I was in a smoothie shop a few weeks back around noon. They have a sign up that says, “Restrooms for paying customers only”. You have to get a key from the cashier. A drunk college student was in line in front of me demanding the key. When the cashier refused, he just whipped it out and did his business all over the floor. The topper was when he puked on his way out the door. The cashier called the police of course, and a foot patrolling officer was there in half a minute. The guy was arrested as he was sitting with his buddies, waiting at the bus stop right outside the store. They were all laughing about the mishap, and high-fiving each other, hollering about how awesome this weekend was, while the officer was cuffing them with nylon straps to be carted off to the drunk tank. They won’t think it so funny when they get the bill for their stay in detox. I never did get my smoothie. The smell in the shop ruined my appetite.
I forgot that I wanted to ask if there were strips that come before this one explaining the road trip.
Gee, I was simply going to comment on the incorrect use of apostrophes–but I didn’t seem to find any incorrect use of “quotation” marks.
Actually my Dad used to run one of these type of shops long before the term “convenience store” became commonplace. So I know this scene all too well. I pumped gas, bagged ice, ran the register, etc. every summer from the time I was 11 until I was 19.
For the record, we didn’t have any beer in the place, and my Dad didn’t like to sell cigarettes. Being in NC he couldn’t get the wholesaler to supply him with anything else if he didn’t carry them–he did have a nice display marked with a tooled leather sign that said “Cancer Center” and two skull ashtrays on top.
Would you please tell me why, I’ve been deleted?
My favorite one of these places is on the highway that we took to get to Uncle Milton’s – right before the TN River. I doubt anyone other than a Southerner would dare go in, but they had the best “taters” around. Just remember to get your drink from the bottom of the cooler if you want it below room temp.
Man, THIS one apparently struck a nerve. Hugh- you’ve not been deleted! I was out of town in Boston and didn’t check in to approve comments- yours were stuck in limbo… My apologies! Oh, and the sign out front was, as you guessed, pretty sick. It was actually ‘Minners, Beer and Ammanition’.
I’ve been to places selling ‘Co-Coler’ but the ones selling live snakes are much further back in the hills.
For our more Northerly Brethren- in the South, a ‘Co-Coler’ used to be any carbonated soda beverage. You’d say, “You wanna Co-Coler?” and the other person would say, “Yes, please.” and you’d say “What Kind?” meaning “Do you want a Pepsi, and RC, a Sprite, etc?” It’s similar to the way people ask if you need a Kleenex instead of asking if you need a “facial tissue.”
The kid on the floor by the spinner rack made me do a double-take… great shades of Hank Ketcham!
I’ve been “sort-of” following Hubris on Go-Comics, and decided this week to find the source so I could start at the beginning and do a complete read-through. I’m not athletic myself, but I’ve been laughing my head off because I think I’ve actually met some of your characters in RL!
We’re really, really glad you’re here. Especially in real life.
I think I have that volume of The Norm.
Also, I think I know that lady. Her name’s Julie, and you’d better plan at least 20 minutes for her to sell you a dozen eggs. It’s motivation to write to all your great-aunts, so you’ll have family news to trade her for your breakfast.