Review: The Gas Station at 8:28 PM

I sat in the truck waiting for my brother to return from inside where he was paying for fuel. When we had pulled up we had been greeted by the sight of a man on the opposite side of the pumps. He was young and dressed in white, but more to the point, he was stoned out of his head. But he had left quickly; an empty spot with the slight tang of something herbal lingering in the air.

Directly in my line of site was a truck. It was a two door, short bed Ford. White with light blue, green and pink lines woven in spiral that reminded me of a 1980's public access channel special effect. The owner, who I couldn't see at first, was filling the tires with air. But I didn't need to see the driver. I knew instinctively what kind of driver drove the truck. Naturally there were only two kinds of people who could get away with it. It was either a woman, or else it was someone who was adorned in spandex, leg warmers, head and wrist bands; with a cheesy mustache, feathered hair and a grey, cut off sleeves, t-shirt.

Yes, that's the image my head instantly came up with. There was just no other possibility that seemed to fit. So I waited to see if I was right. I was so intently focused, that I didn't notice the vehicle pulling into the spot that had recently been vacated by the stoner. Did not in fact notice what got out of said vehicle and began pumping. I was purely intent on seeing either a woman or the 80's demon that had crawled out of the mists of time.

Instead as I looked on, the squirrelly head of a balding, thin, middle aged man popped up. I don't stare at people, so I looked away instantly. But even the quick glance was too much, for he was looking over. In fact he was staring. So I thought, alright, I might as well stare back and get a good look. He was dressed in a nice long sleeved, blue button up shirt. He had a tie and slacks. There was something embroidered on the shirt pocket. If I had to guess, I would say he was an usher at a church. Perhaps even a pastor.

Eventually his eyes dropped down, back to the task at hand. He checked each tire in turn, adjusting the levels. His whole persona screamed anal. Nothing said, 'I drive this truck while listening to RATT.' Periodically he would stop and stare again. I tried to figure out how it could be; this man a clear cut, walking contradiction open for the world to behold. Then I realized he was that 80's guy. That truck which he kept in pristine condition, taking care to keep the tires all level, was his last outlet to who he truly was. Maybe weekdays he's the guy who doles out advice to young parishioners seeking his wisdom in solving life's problems. Night though... night belongs to that Night Ranger, tearing down the roads, stereo blasting.

I may not understand the lifestyle, but I respect a man who lives his life. Course his continually staring was starting to get on my nerves. Which is when my brother jumped in the truck and started it up.

I nudged him and whispered, "you see him?"

"That guy is weird," he responded, eyes looking to the pump where the stoner had been.

"Who are you talking about?" I asked. and then I saw. Saw what the old man with the truck had been staring at. It wasn't me he'd been unable to tear his eyes from. It was the strange mysterious beast that had awoken from another existence. I imagine him to have formally strolled the boardwalk with minotaurs and lizard people.

I've racked my brain trying to figure out how I would describe him. If it weren't for the fear of dark magic, I would have taken a picture. This is my best shot: He wore brown.

Ok, maybe I can do better. Imagine if you would, the classic monk's robe. Now picture if the monk turned his robe into matching pants and a wife beater. Give the monk a dark black mullet and a broken nose. The build of someone who has always acted like he is bulked up with muscles but really is just a big guy. Give him a black truck that was obviously built in such a way as to overcompensate for something. And that just about... no, it doesn't even compare. How do you describe the color blue to a blind person? How do I tell you about this strange spectre?

...he wore brown. That's all I got.

For a routine gas fill up that ended up landing us in the realms of some fantasy world, I have to give that gas station at 8:28 PM, a bizarre 7 out of 9