1. Ro-Tel.
It's Sunday afternoon, some 30 minutes prior to kickoff. Mrs. Driver starts to prepare a batch of queso. There is no Ro-Tel.
The Driver has the following options: A) drive to the local Supermarket, deal with parking, fight pre-game crowds and walk the equivalent of 1/4 mile through the parking lot and the store itself to purchase a $0.69 can of crushed tomatoes with green chiles; B) go to the local Convenience Store.
The two retailers are virtually the same distance from The Condo, albeit in opposite directions. But as the name implies, the "Convenience Store" is a straight shot from driveway to driveway, offers ample close parking (The Driver is a close-parker), and requires less navigation (read: effort, exercise) within the building.
Unfortunately, while the Convenience Store offers almost every other conceivable food and beverage for the football-watching occasion, it does not sell Ro-Tel.
Defeated, The Driver faces the music and heads to the Supermarket.
2. Velveeta.
It's the very next Sunday, some 30 minutes before kickoff. Having wisely purchased this week's Ro-Tel on an earlier Supermarket trip, The Driver family once again readied itself to cook up some delicious queso.
Mrs. Driver opened the remnants of the previous week's Velveeta, only to find them... well... compromised. And generally not suitable for human consumption.
Surely the Convenience Store -- a widely accepted destination for cheap, quick, ready-to-eat foods (and not to mention every conceivable food and beverage for the football-watching occasion) -- will carry non-refrigerated boxes of processed cheese food. After all, the same store offers such "necessities" as a sewing kit, garbanzo beans and a variety of magazines for the modified car and motorcycle enthusiast.
No Velveeta.
Determined not to drive out of the way (past The Condo in the opposite direction), search for parking and fight the pre-game crowds at the Supermarket, The Driver frantically scopes out the two other Convenience Stores in the immediate vicinity.
Convenience Store B was smaller and more focused on its affiliation with the attached McDonald's. Plus, they once sold Mrs. Driver some bad gasoline -- requiring The Drivers to pay for the flushing and replacement of one gas tank for a 1998 Toyota Corolla. So even if Convenience Store B had sold Velveeta, The Driver would have been very conflicted about giving them any more money. Lucky for The Driver, no Velveeta.
Convenience Store C, located directly across the street from the original destination, is a "family-owned" operation. More accurately, it's a dump. Pretty creepy, actually. It reeks of bad automotive air fresheners. There is strange, decidedly un-American music blaring from a pathetic, old radio. And while there is an entire aisle devoted to wine, it is mostly of the $3.99 per bottle variety. And said wine aisle is adjacent to the extensive selection of adult magazines.
Still, no Velveeta.
The "Porn Convenience Store" does, however, sell pre-made, name-brand queso in a jar.
Done and done.
Of course, there is the small matter of the $5 minimum for debit or credit card transactions.
No, The Driver did not buy an adult magazine. He bought beef jerky, thank you very much.
3. Hamburger Helper
It was Wednesday night, 7:45 pm. The Drivers were buying gasoline. And they were hungry. And also in possession of 6 lbs. of leftover beef from a recent cookout.
The stars were aligning for a dinner of Hamburger Helper.
It was not to be.
Alas, no Hamburger Helper.
Curse you, Supermarket! You've won yet again! But someday, when you least expect it, The Driver will have a need that you cannot fulfill almost as conveniently as the Convenience Store.
Perhaps he will want refried beans AND a lottery ticket.
Wait. You have lottery tickets?
Damn.
Okay, Supermarket. You've forced my hand. I'm driving to the Convenience Store, and I'm picking up a taquito filled with cream cheese (with jalapeños), a Dr Pepper Slurpee and a copy of "Low Rider" magazine. Just to spite you.
