 |
| This looked nothing like the CVS I visited. |
But before I hopped on the interstate to head home, I knew I had to stop somewhere and acquire caffeine, or I'd certainly fall asleep at the wheel. I exited the cathedral and glanced across the dark street to the brightly-lit CVS parking lot.
This was not the safest part of town. It was nighttime, I was by myself and dressed more professionally for the day's earlier events; I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself.
Also, I'd never considered visiting the iron fence-circled drugstore as an option in past visits to this area of the city. But there was an easy access to a caffeinated beverage standing before me, and wouldn't even need to reset the GPS to find some obscure coffee shop elsewhere.
Eh. I decided I'd pop in quickly, pick up one of those cold, premade jar bottles of Starbucks frappe-somethings, and not be stupid about anything.
I parked in the lot, went through the automatic glass doors and was greeted - not verbally, but with a vague glance - by the guy wearing a "SECURITY"-printed windbreaker.
I made a beeline for the back of the store, yawned past a solitary shopper in one aisle, and picked up a random bottle of sweet tea. I marched up to the kid at the register and placed the tea on the counter without a word.
He beeped the bar code silently as well - which was fine with my human-weary head. I pulled out my wallet to pay the $2-something cost.
"Lemme guess: law student?"
Huh?
I peered through my glasses at the youth, who had directed the question to me. I shook my head, and he asked about other occupation options. I responded the same.
"What do you do then?" he asked, waiting for the machine to shoot out the receipt.
Gentle reader, I'd mentioned before that my power of interaction with the rest of humankind had already been stretched beyond its expectations. I'd spent the majority of the day packing in stories to complete before Thanksgiving break, followed by hours in a centuries-old church hearing stories of ancient pipe organs, church ghosts and musician drama. Followed by the prior event, which hadn't been difficult to cover, but had been long.
At any rate, when I become very tired, personal questions are the last things I feel like answering. Hence...
I said something along the lines of working for the Catholic Church, and managed to avoid entirely that I was a reporter. I gestured to the left of the counter, indicating the cathedral I had previously been inside.
"Oh, I know that place," said the youth, holding my receipt hostage, and asking further what I did for the Church. I said I write for the Church, internally hoping I'd get my receipt and be released.
 |
| Sisters having fun. |
"I didn't know they had people that wrote stuff. That's cool," he said.
I agreed, adding that I got to meet lots of different bishops and priests and nuns; "It can be pretty fun, you meet interesting people," I reflected half to myself. No receipt.
"Are you a sister?" he asked. I responded with a perfunctory smile, "Oh, I'm not a nun!" - realizing that the youth had totally used the correct term for religious that would be seen in a corner drugstore, while I'd used the term technically reserved for cloistered sisters.
The day had been too long already, and still no receipt.
"Do nuns do fun things? Like have pillow fights and stuff?" he inquired. I nodded, and added that I actually know a few that have in fact had pillow fights. I thought of the pewfuls of Missionaries of Charity and Dominicans I'd sat behind just an hour earlier.
He grinned, and I added, "Yeah, nuns are cool."
He handed me my receipt and I gratefully started to walk away from the counter, as the customer behind me came up to purchase his items.
I pointed at the youth with a flourish and repeated, as if a recap, "Yup - nuns are cool."
And bearing my hard-won sweet tea, marched past the security guard, out the door, to my car, and drove home.
No comments:
Post a Comment