This morning, in a hungover and post peep depressive state, I ran from my house in the morning to go get gas before going to my crappy temp job. At the station, midway through my fill-up and while salivating over my diet pepsi in hand, I realize I don't have my debit card*. or my id. they are snug as bugs in my jeans. at home. 4 blocks away. fuck. I tell the cashier to stop. And suddenly the man who has seen me at least once a week for the past 11 months decides I am sketchy. They don't take credit cards or checks. He wants his money. And all I can think is that I'm never getting that diet pepsi. Worse is that my temp job feels precarious, is needed and I can't be late. Add PMS, and you have a barely functioning wendyrella. I finally talk to the station manager, who lets me leave my checkbook to go home. This still sucks as an option because of work, but is better than nothing.
And then, I go to the cashier to tell him I got clearance. And he tells me it's ok, someone has paid for my gas.
I run out, full of tears, to thank a yound dad in his truck. He rolls down the window and says "it's totally cool, you look like you are having a bad morning and I'm happy to do it." I was so overwhelmed that it wasn't until 10 minutes later I realized I could have written him a check or gotten his name and address.
Wow! Thank the universe for the non-jaded!
*everyone knows I never have cash..