Have Fun Having Gas

There is this man who works at the convenience store a few blocks from here whose head wobbles on his neck like a bobble head doll. His name is Jason and the store is called the Smart Stop. Everything you can possibly buy at that store will lead to a premature death. Beer, wine, candy, chips, The Bomb beef burrito--a favorite of mine.

In high school, the skateboarders and the pot heads would hang out in the Taco Bell parking lot, laughing and talking while lettuce and tomato would fall from their mouths onto the pavement. Here in Bellingham, the homeless alcoholics hang out at the smart stop. Skateboarding and tacos. I don’t see an obvious connection between the two. A store that devotes an entire wall to the storage of alcoholics beverages such as the Smart Stop and the congregation of alcoholics is a bit easier to understand.

I don’t know Jason. I have never approached him at the counter after laying down a pecan pie and a Steel Reserve and said, “Hey Jason. Good Evening. What did you think about that bill congress pushed through?” I only know his name is Jason because someone told me it was in conversation about the funny rubbery guy down at the Smart Stop.

His sweaters have holes in them. A lot of holes. He has a beard that looks like it is less about style and more about not wanting to shave. He is probably in his mid thirties though his age is difficult to discern. Could be twenty eight, could be forty. He says Hi-Di-Ho as a greeting to costumers as they walk through the door, triggering that HING-HUM bell. And when he speaks, his body starts waving like a gelatin cornstalk in a windstorm. Maybe I think of cornstalks because he reminds me so much of the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. Yes, now that I think of it, he is the scarecrow!

The only reason I bring up the alcoholics is because I think they hang out at the Smart Stop not only because it is a beer paradise, but because Jason talks to them and listens to them. Maybe he is one of them. I don’t know. But during his shift there is always a tin of altoids open on the counter, free for the taking.

Jessi and I stopped in for a pack of smokes the other night and were greeted by a bendy Jason, “Helloooo there.” In front of us in line, a woman paid for twenty dollars on pump three. When she was walking out the door, (HING-HUM) he called out to her, “Have fun having gas!” He mouthed the word “wow” silently to himself after the door swung shut, looked at us, and then began to chuckle and sway. He has the best attitude I have ever seen in a convenience store clerk.

“Marlboro lights!“ repeating my order back to me while smacking the pack down on the counter next to the mints. His head was drifting backwards towards the wall made of cigarette packs behind him, while his arms were reaching forward, towards the register. He reminded me of a swirling spiral galaxy. “One book or two?” referring to the books of matches he gives away like candy. Two, I said. Always get two. Jessi and I left the store. Past the bums huddled under Jason’s window, swigging malt liquor out of paper bags in December. They looked cozy. We laughed about the gas joke. I kind of wanted to hug Jason.