post #1 - Isaac

The most interesting visitor to the 76 lately was not actually a customer, but a poor lost soul. People often foolishly assume that gas station attendants are a surefire, reliable source of directions. False. Just today the boyfriend and I stopped by a Chevron in Canby to ask if they knew where the pumpkin patch was. Surprise: the attendant is not from Canby and doesn't know anything.

I live in Oregon City and work in Milwaukie, but I spend as little time as possible in either town. I couldn't tell this strikingly attractive West African man how to get to the Portland-Troutdale airport; I didn't even know there was an airport around here that wasn't PDX. But I did show him how to use the conveniently simple GPS adhered to his dash. Apparently my improvised technology skills are impressive, because he then began to engage in some aggressive flirting. It was late; there were no customers to rudely ignore; I was bored; I let him flirt.

I should not encourage the locals, especially when I can only come up with three or four tactful ways to refuse to give out my phone number. I left with his that night and forgot to call him. Immediately and intentionally forgot, like I frequently forget to make my bed or play in traffic. I should not encourage the locals.