The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck (at QuikTrip)
I was at QuikTrip this morning getting a large unsweetened iced tea. I get the cubed ice because I think it doesn’t melt as fast as the crushed ice and thus, doesn’t water down the tea. God forbid watered down tea. Made out of water.
As I was filling up a styrofoam cup the size of a trashcan, I heard a woman yelling at me. In a panic, I turned to see why she was yelling. It wasn’t me. She was on her phone. And she wasn’t yelling. Just vociferous. Very vociferous. As if I know what that word means. Loud, she was loud.
She had a lumpy body and her yellow dress was glued to the lumps. Her hair was big and everywhere, but not out of control. She had attitude. A big, bad ass attitude.
She had the same enormous styrofoam cup as me and was filling it up with Dr. Pepper.
I looked at her. She looked at me. I got scared. She could not care less. I turned away.
Sneaking another peek, I noticed her drinking the cup of soda right there at the machine.
The entire cup.
A full 70 gallons of soda. At one time. I was mesmerized. Possibly in love.
Then she dumped out the ice, threw the cup away, and walked out of the store.
There was no way the QuikTrip geeks were going to say a word to her and clearly I was still hiding back near the six miles of soda machines that make up every QuikTrip.
Who was this angel?
I listened to the book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, last week. I think he wrote that book about this woman.
I am jealous of her confidence. Her unstoppable attitude. Her sex appeal.
She knows exactly who she is, exactly what she wants, and won’t let anything stop her from living her life. She just doesn’t give a f*ck.
I paid for my drink and left.