This Ain't No Disco

I've been back in Texas for two months now, and I'm getting back into the groove. People drive too slowly here and seem unconcerned with getting the hell out of my way, and I lose my truck in the vast acreage of the grocery store parking lot, and I still haven't won the Texas Lotto even though I was certain my luck would turn the moment I crossed the State line. But it's getting better.
   Except for one thing. Convenience stores.
   Now, keep in mind that back in Pasadena I used to buy cigarettes for a homeless man at my regular convenience store, so it's not like the places were spotless models of propriety and decency. But, jeez, compared to the convenience stores around my house my old Chevron was a sultan's palace. Just a sampling of what I've seen lately:

   No shirt and dirty. You would expect no shirt and clean, like the guy had just gotten out of the pool and raced to the store to buy beef stew and diapers. But swim trunks, flip-flops, and a grimy yet painfully-sunburned torso? Couple that with a three-day beard and red, rheumy eyes and I'm thinking a drunk who just came to after passing out in a dry creek bed.
   Completely unflattering low-rise jeans. Or blue denim sausage casings, I'm not sure what to call them. Really, ladies, if the pants are too small for your eight-year-old daughter to wear comfortably, what chance does your 5'3" 170 pound ass have? I don't want to see plumber crack and I don't want to see yours either. Muffin top? Try fallen souffle.
   Toothless people. Maybe I need to frequent a different set of stores, but I've seen waaaay too many jack-o-lantern smiles.
   Posers driving trucks too big for them to handle. Okay, I drive a Tahoe myself, but I haul stuff in it all the time and I can parallel park it on a downtown LA street, so I got nothing to be ashamed of. I'm talking about the pudgy office worker driving an F-250 - designed to pull horse trailers - which he can't maneuver around the gas pumps, let alone park effectively. And then the douchebag leaves his behemoth idling at an angle blocking people in while he dashes in to buy an 18-pack of Miller Lite. Gotta have something to keep you company while you masturbate to 'So You Think You Can Dance,' I suppose.
   Buyers of convenience store hot dogs. I had never seen anyone buy a convenience store hot dog, either in Texas or California before April of this year. But now, two months back and I've seen at least ten people eagerly grabbing a greasy weenie from the rollers. The problem is not that you don't know where the Valero hot dog has been, the problem is you know EXACTLY where it's been. And don't get me started on the free cheese and chili...
   People actually using the Red Box. In this era of Netflix, both delivery and streaming, why do people bother going anywhere to rent a DVD? More to the point, why do they line up outside a convenience store to use a DVD vending machine? Blockbuster is still open, you know. You could rent a video while in air conditioned comfort.
   Much, much older workers behind the register than I'm comfortable with. Time was, back when the world was young and the Internet was mostly dial-up, convenience store workers were younger than me. For the most part. And I was none too old myself. Now, however, it's like an AARP convention behind the counter. I know the reason why, even retired people are going to need jobs in the future, given the way the Baby Boomers have completely screwed up the economy, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with the trend. Gray old men should be shaking a fist and telling me to get off their lawns, not asking me if I want a bag for my purchases.
   Torn American flags. You're proud to be a citizen, I get it, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. But if you're going to fly the flag 24/7 - which you absolutely should never do in the first place - at least make sure it's not tattered and torn. The Shell station is not Fort McHenry, no matter how much you wish it were.