Drama at the gas station:
I pulled into a small rural gas station to buy fuel and supplies.
I looked at the customer at the pump next to mine, and hated him instantly. I despised not only him, but also his
unpleasant wife and their litter of beady-eyed, poorly raised children. Why? Was it something about how he dispensed gas
into his
monster truck and red fuel cans while flicking ashes from his lit cigarette? No.
I hated them all because of what was mounted
on the trailer they were pulling--three dusty, water-splashed ATVs with great chunks of mud mashed into the deep tire
treads.
The chance these were the ones who killed the P. pumila plants was slim at best, but that didn't stop me from
quietly hating them with all my sour-mood vigor. Oooh, I was so mad. (Note: If you're an ATV enthusiast, don't bother
e-mailing me with flames, or try to defend the pleasures of ATVs. This moment was not about logic--it was about fury at
those little Pinguicula that got crushed.)
In the line for the cashier, the ATVers were in front of me. Daddy ATVer bought more than $65 of cheap liquor, beer,
and mixers. Nice. During the transaction, Daddy ATVer looked over at another similarly poorly dressed
customer (who was hungrily
eyeing the display of fine chewing tobaccos) and said "Hey Booger."
Booger, who was very short--I could imagine the schoolyard conversation resulting in his name ("You're no bigger
than a booger!")--looked up and said, "Hey."
Well, having actually seen someone named "Booger" cheered me up enormously.
I continued the drive and eventually reached the trailhead to my next site, which started with
a long hike through the woods. Along the way I saw these
nice Drosera capillaris.
