So. I was on my way into the office and drove through McDonalds for my large coffee. Just like I have for the past 10 years, I go through McDonalds for my large black coffee and then I stop at one of several choices for a coffee cake or pastry to take in with me. I really like coffee cakes, with the crumb strudel on the top. They are sometimes hard to find.
I tag in to security and walk to my office and sit down at my desk, relax in my chair, turn my screens on and set out my coffee and pastry as I begin to read who killed who in our country the night and day before. Why do I read that shit? To keep me busy while I enjoy my coffee of course.
I do this four sometimes five days a week. What can I say, it's a habit. Occasionally I will switch it up and get a medium coffee. I am so hooked on good coffee cakes that when I find a good supplier in packaged coffee cakes with crumb strudel, I will buy five or six at a time to put in my desk drawer.
But that's not what this story is about. It's is about counter culture. I mean the real counter culture. The counters of convenience stores and coffee shops or any other business that provides human counter service. This happens to be about the counter person at a convenience store that I found as a short term supplier for my favorite coffee cakes.
As usual I grabbed the cakes they had, I think it was four or five and a couple of bottle waters. I had in my head what the approximate cost would be because I left my wallet in my car in my briefcase and I only had cash on me. I never carry a wallet, well almost never, I cannot stand the thought of losing it. I would rather ask someone else to pay and tell them I owe them. Just kidding.
Well I only had cash and when he rang it up I was a few dollars short, so I put a couple of the cakes back. I asked him did the price go up on the cakes and he answered in the affirmative, with an added commentary on why.
"If Trump was in, prices wouldn't be going up". The counter man said as he gave me my change.
I took my change and my bag of goodies and said to him, "Are you fucking serious? You support that grifter crook?" His simple answer to me me as "Yeah."
I walked out the door heading to my car and shaking my head in disbelief. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it because I was kind of a regular in the store because of my coffee cakes. But here was this fellow who was not young, probably late forties, and I know he had very little in the way of material gains, whatever that means. Let's just say he wasn't rockin' the world financially. But he found it in his heart to support someone who would kick him to the curb in a Mar-A-Largo second.