Patterns of Misfortune

A gas station not far from my office often has a better price  than most other places I encounter on my usual routes.  In these times of elevated gas prices and length commute, I stopped there one evening  after leaving work.

There was a truck parked on the opposite side of the pump I was using to top off my tank.  And a conversation caught my ear.

A kid (probably 10 years old) walked up and stood at the driver's window.  It sounded like he said, "They don't have 100s."

Though I'm not a smoker, I did have the colorful experience of working as a clerk at a convenience store while in college.  So, I was aware of the soft-pack/hard-pack/100s/menthol-type options available to purchasers of cigarettes.  And this seemed curious to me, because I figured the kid was too young to purchase cigarettes anyway.

"What are you talking about?"  The large woman behind the steering wheel practically berated the boy.

A teenage girl leaned over from the passenger seat and joined in: "Did you check the other side?"  She was also yelling in the unpleasant tone of someone both entitled and annoyed, though I would perfer other adjectives to describe her.

The boy was trying to get in a word of explanation, but he was interrupted by the bumpkin who was driving. "Did - you - check - the other side!?"  I could practically hear the interrobang fall out her window and explode on the asphalt.

Still, amidst the barrage of questions from the truck's uncomprehending occupants, the boy tried to explain himself.  The hefty woman driver cut him off again with her venom:  "Just go pay for muh damn gas!"

I knew the unspoken part of that imperative was to come back and pump the gas, too.

And here's the thing:  this boy was mentally retarded.  I'm not sure the acceptable way to phrase that, but the bottom line is some condition or disorder or accident left him with very low functioning skills, i.e., his mental faculties had been retarded in their development.  Speech problems.  His lurching walk suggested he had a problem with motor skills, too.

This kid reminded me of a friend's son who'd ingested some ant poison as a toddler.  After several intense and uncertain days at a hospital in Dallas, my friend's son pulled through to the point that they knew he would survive.  But, the doctors explained there had been irreversible brain damage, and they would have to wait to get a better idea of the extent to which the damage would effect his development.

So, the boy at the gas station not only had to endure the complications of his diminished capabilities, he had to fumble through life with that belligerent beast as a mother.  Sometimes burdens seem insurmountable.

Sigh.