There is a new broad working at my Speedway. I’m not trying to offend anyone with that term, some people just fit a mold and this one is called broad.

She has the part time rasp of a hundred thousand smoked cigarettes mixed with a man repelling shriek I think is a laugh. I am always greeted with a “Hun” or “Doll” and she never fails to give me way too much information about the topic of the day.

Like this morning she let me know that she is the first person to clean the walls in the history of the store. When I mentioned that the cigarette holders at my eye level were incubating potential undiscovered disease cures she freaked out. She marched into the back and grabbed the stepstool. She climbed up on the filthy plexiglas counter that covers the scratcher assortment and began to clean.

I was staring because the harder she scrubbed the more both of the cancer dispensers shook. I think they are somehow tied together above the drop ceiling and I didn’t think the Speedway store engineers designed this system for that much stress. I must have been watching for a while when I looked down half my pop was gone and she was talking right into my face.

“If you’re going to stay here all morning I’ll grab you a rag and you can get the backside for me. Then I won’t feel like you’re just standing there watching me work.”

I mumbled some half assed joke about someone having to witness the accident and excused myself. But then I got a weird feeling that she mistook my pondering for a genuine interest in the show.  The wink she delivered made me feel creepy in a way I’ve never experienced before. When I replayed the whole ordeal in my head I felt worse.

And now I will be giving the interior of that store some distance until the weird wears off.  This might take some time as I am now on this broads radar.

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