Jan 21st, 2010 by barb
So I’m driving home after a one-nighter in Indiana and I need to get gas. I take exit 112 and pull into the parking lot for Sad Sam’s. When I saw the sign, I asked myself, “What’s Sam got to be so sad about?” If I had a gas station/firecracker store/souvenir shop named after me, I think I would be happy. (Note: If I actually had to run one, I would be depressed. I suck at math and managing people. But that has nothing to do with Sam. Back to the story.)
Upon exploration, I discovered some plausible reasons for Sam’s battle with the blues.
Perhaps Sam is sad because someone has placed this massive statue of an American Indian wearing what appear to be Hushpuppies in his parking lot. Maybe Sam senses it is a little cheeky to use a statue of an Indian to sell fireworks and shot glasses since we killed most of those guys as we were settling in to our new home. Maybe he’s sad because when you throw in what appears to be the Nazi salute, it really is just kind of weird.
Maybe Sam is sad because the family burial plot is nestled between the dumpsters and the back of the building. Honestly, if I were Sam, that would make me sad too. Not as sad as I would be if I was one of the family members so rudely awakened from my eternal slumber every Tuesday morning at 8:00 am by the garbage trucks, but sad, nonetheless.
Or maybe, just maybe Sam is sad because the pink elephant in the parking lot across the street drank all the vodka.
Hard to say.