“It’s a GOLDMINE in there,” said Mr. Buzz-Cut Blonde.

Getting off I-85 at the second southbound exit in South Carolina, I was behind a tractor trailer, and Mr. BCB was trying to get around me, as he figured he could beat me, AND the truck. The only thing at this exit was Love’s. Why he thought both the truck and me were going elsewhere, who knows. Once he saw the truck was turning towards Love’s, he put the brakes on.

We both pulled into the Love’s to get gas; I got out and started fill the car, he looked at the gas pump, and turned to go inside. He was wearing tight, off-white pants, and tried to pull his tee shirt down over his hindquarters. Odd, since I surmised the pants had been chosen to display the hindquarters for all the world to admire.

A few minutes later, I walked into building and there he stood, energy drink in hand, still yammering on the iPhone. I got a bottle of water and stood two behind him in line as he continued to tell his phone what opportunities there were to be had somewhere—the location no doubt established before Mr. BCB got off the Interstate. He never paused the conversation, even as he told the cashier what pump he was on, and handed her a card for the gas and drink.

Carefully balancing the drink and phone, he pulled his shirt down as far over his bum as he could. Maybe the tighty off-white whitey pants seemed like a good idea when he was dressing this morning, but clearly, modesty was getting the better of him now.

When I walked out to my car, he was, with one hand, putting gas in the tank, still talking to someone looking for a goldmine.


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