Petrol & Flies

The thing is that you can't hate everyone all the time. You have to be selective. Sometimes, I hate stupid people. I was at a gas station once, hating stupid people. The thing is, I was so busy hating stupid people, that I drove off with the petrol nozzle still stuck in the car. It happened somewhere in a Carolina on the way to Mertle Beach. I like to go to beaches. They are nature's visual reminder that the earth is finite. I feel comfortable around finite things. An overcast sky is more pleasing to me than a blue one for that reason. I feel naked and exposed when invisible gases are the only things that separate me from the incomprehensible vastness of the universe. I like to be indoors. Preferably in a pub where, if it's sunny outside, I can drink my insecurity away. I was talking about booze to a guy I work with today. Well, I don't really "work" with Greg. He's one of those people who you can't get any work done around, because they're always telling the funniest stories. Today, we traded stories about 'Raq. 'Raq is the place we invaded in 2003. It's in the same physical place as present-day Iraq, but they are different in every other possible way. In 'Raq, the "washroom" was half of a 50-gallon barrel (in a wooden closet, if you were lucky). I didn't know what a 50-gallon barrel was, either. It turns out they're the things poor people light fires in and huddle around during the winter, so they can warm their hands. Thank you, Philadelphia! Anyway, after a day or two of "use", some poor schmo would have to drag them off to one side, pour diesel fuel in, and burn off the waste. The "mixture" took a solid eight hours of conflagration, so it was a whole-day affair of mixing and burning. When still in use, though, the drums attracted flies. Not just a couple, but dozens. My story is about them. Unlike American houseflies, these things were mammoth in comparison. When one flew by, you could feel the air be disturbed by it's vortices. They were tenacious, as well. They would always return to the same spot they originally landed on you, even after repeated swats. They also had a love affair with the corner of your lip and your eyeballs. Anyway, they would hang out on the... um, subject matter, chilling out until you sat down, whereupon, they would make life... unpleasant. One day, a particular supply run landed us the gold mine of insect repellent, and it was my grand idea to take a can with me to have at least one harassment-free "experience". So, imagine if you will, thirty to fifty beastly flies, an enclosed space, and an aerosol can of insect repellent. Well, they all went for the exit, for sure. Saddly, that's where I was too. Flies that, only a moment before had been sitting on... "subject matter", were making their new home on the corner of my mouth and in my eyeballs. IN MY EYEBALLS! I have no luck when it comes to doing stupid things. There are always an inordinate amount of people around when they happen. On this occasion, it just so happened that the normally-deserted "washroom" area was crowded with soldiers getting a briefing. There I was, spilling out of one of the toilets, pursued by angry flies after my eyeballs. When I drove back to that gas station in one of the Carolinas, there had been a problem with the register, and the line snaked almost to the door when I blurted, "excuse me; I think this belongs to you".