September 17: Uneasy Thoughts

Imagine needing to make a stop at a gas station late at night. After filling your tank, you decide a few Little Debbie chocolate cupcakes would be a nice treat. You enter the brightly lit store and walk down the aisles of short shelves until you find your midnight snack when you hear the jingle of the door opening. Looking up, you see a hooded figure with his head turned down enter and approach the counter. I don't know about you, but my initial thought is store holdup.

Now imagine you're in the drive thru of your local Taco Bell. The intercom statically comes to life with a young slang-laden voice. It's a voice of poor enunciation and jive. He asks what you want and you order the number 5 (Nachos Bel Grande, taco, and soft drink) without sour cream and a Mountain Dew. You wait for him to repeat your order but hear nothing. "Hello?" you ask. Finally he comes back and asks you to order again. "Number 5 without sour cream and a Mountain Dew." After listening to the employee laugh in the background with his friends, he speaks into the microphone. "That's a number 5 and a Mountain Dew. $6.25 at the second window." You reiterate your request for the omission of sour cream but hear nothing. I don't know about you, but my initial thought is sour cream.

Call it an assumption. Call it a stereotype. Whatever you call it, it's the same feeling I get after picking up my truck from the mechanic. After paying my bill, I'm instructed to wait for the mechanic to "bring my vehicle around." Watching your own vehicle drive around the corner is a weird feeling. It's like sitting in the passenger seat while a friend drives in the seat that is usually reserved for you. Something just feels off. When the truck comes to a stop, a heavy-set man steps out and I thank him before climbing in.

Before driving off, I take note of the interior because God knows I can't tell a difference to the way the engine is idling. I realize I should have totaled the three or four coins I had in the center compartment before turning my vehicle over, but there's no way of knowing now if the amount is less. Is my rear view mirror still adjusted to my height or did someone bump it out of alignment while getting in? Is my library card, physical therapy appointment card, car wash card, and hairdresser business card still in the second cup holder?

I hate that feeling of not knowing what happened while I wasn't there. I know they put that cheap piece of plastic on the seat and that flimsy piece of paper on the floor, but I still feel like they messed everything up by climbing in. I hate how the emergency brake isn't where I left it. I hate wondering if they turned my radio on to see what I listen to. On the other hand, I love wondering if they caught a glimpse of the life-sized dummy strapped in my backseat. Did they have a good laugh by themselves or did they bring all of their greasy buddies over to have a peak inside?

Stereotyping a hooded figure at a gas station store as a criminal. Assuming a punk kid will mess up your number 5. Wondering what the mechanic touched in your truck. Nothing is certain, but it's that initial thought and wonder of what could happen. What might happen. If you've read Malcolm Gladwell's Blink you might believe it's the unconscious part of the brain trying to tell us something. Whatever it is, I don't like it.