I’m still giving in to my cinnamon coffee addiction. 7-Eleven, of course… Not an exclusive taste, I do admit, but it’s my thing… I have my 2-3 stores that I like to frequent, but since I’m mostly in West Hollywood now, my standard one is located there. I also play the lottery every once in a while, and the clerks always wish you good luck. I’ve gotten so used to it (they’ve raised me well) that I almost want to throw out the ticket right away if they don’t wish me good luck.
I should mention that I may get a little cranky without my coffee fix (of course, it’s purely incidental… I have one cup in the morning – and not even every morning – and when I’ve had a particularly good or bad day, I get my cinnamon coffee in the afternoon… comfort or celebration; I want it). So one afternoon, my 7-Eleven clerk of Indian descent handed me my lottery ticket after I paid for the coffee and he did NOT wish me good luck.
There was a brief pause as a tiny thundercloud formed above my head and I spontaneously turned into Cruella de Vil. When I’m cranky, I get sarcastic and sometimes cynical. It’s so much fun. So I stand there, expecting him to say “good luck”, and I just end up talking to myself. I recreate the entire conversation as I would’ve wanted it, saying “good luck”-“thank you”- “have a nice day”-“great thanks you too, see you next time”. The clerk just stared at me.
I feel that wishing myself good luck almost made up for him not having done so.
I’d say I’m frequenting that 7-Eleven about once a week and the clerks know me by now. I’ve never mentioned anything, but I seem to have left an impression with my monologue weirdness. Now, even if I don’t buy a ticket, he wishes me good luck. I’ve raised him well. Still haven’t won the lottery though.