So there I am at the gas station

So I’m at the gas station filling my tank and then I go in to pay and there are a couple guys standing around, behind the counter where I’m paying, and they’re talking, and I’m paying and I have my cash card out and I feel something in my hair that feels a lot more like a spider than a fly. It’s bigger than a fly, whatever it is, and it isn’t buzzing like a fly. Of course, it could be a very large fly that somehow hit a deposit of styling gel that immobilized its wings, turning it into a walk, but this felt more like a large, scurrying spider. And here I was, at the gas station with other guys, a total guy situation, like they’re talking about cars and sports, maybe car racing, and the wall behind them is full of shelves of cigarettes, and the cooler is full of beer, and there are girlie magazines in the magazine stands to my left, and various cleaning fluids and motor oils and so on, I can’t have a fit, screaming and batting at my head.

It wouldn’t look right.

So I paid and walked out and started madly brushing at my head when I was out of eyeshot (although I suppose they have me on the security cameras).

“Jesus Christ, did you see the giant spider on that guy’s head?” I imagine one of the guys said to the other, once I’d left.

“Sure was calm about it.”

“Cool as a cucumber.”

“What a guy.”