The ride in to Lexington from my house is long, and the new road construction projects near the Kentucky Horse Park make it longer. There are cops everywhere ready to give tickets that will carry a double fine for speeding in work zone. I should've stopped for coffee, I thought to myself. This ride has the potential of turning me into a zombie. The last thing I heard before pulling into a Speedway gas station near work was a terrestial radio DJ talking about the things that make him white trash. Examples from this conversation included enjoying independent wrestling events, eating pickled eggs or wild onions from the backyard, and picking the Waffle House as their first restaurant of choice. God, I STILL have a hard time relating to southerners, I thought to myself. Have morning radio talk shows really gotten this bad? Tomorrow my car will finally be equipt with Sirius radio so that I can listen to Howard. I've been a subscriber to Sirius ever since his announcement that he was moving to satellite radio, and had a car kit up until we moved to Kentucky.

There's something about coffee from a gas station that get's my heart pumpin' unlike any other coffee - including top shelf coffees like Starbucks. After a dreary ride like this, I needed to snap myself out of it. So I make my favorite gas station coffee concoction (20 oz cup with about 10 tablespoons of french vanilla creamer and super strong java) "Oh my gosh, are you paying for my coffee?!", I whispered to the older man in line before me. I thought I heard him say this to the cashier, but couldn't be sure. I don't think I came across as dumbfounded as I felt. "Thank you so much. Have a nice day." And I left.

As I left I thought I should've listened to Oprah and paid for someone else's cup of coffee. The fact that I didn't will bother me until I do. When I pulled away from the gas station the man waved to me from his truck, I waved in excitment back, and wondered if he pays it forward all the time.