The course of my suburban life inevitably leads me to the convenience store. The need for half and half and Cherry Garcia frozen yogurt facilitates this. Last night there was a long line at my regular store. The guy behind the counter (one of several brothers, cousins and uncles that own and operate the place) seemed pretty frazzled, but still took the time to say thank you to each customer.

I don’t mind the wait as it gives me time to take inventory of the odd collection of cigarette lighters for sale on the counter. They are shaped like minature guns, VW Beetles (distorted just enough to not get in trouble with the VW people), nude female torsos (with little red lights where the nipples should be), robots and rocket ships. By far the most intriguing is the middle finger with the ring that lights up as you produce the flame.

All the other lighters sit in full trays; not one sold down. Except for the middle finger. It sits alone in it’s tray of two. I ponder, not sure if I’m more disturbed by the fact that this thing exists at all or the fact that someone actually bought one. I try to put myself in the the shoes of the person who bought this spectacularly offensive item. I envision open, butterfly–collared shirts and feel certain that said shoes are made of white imitation pleather.

Shuddering, I pay for my frozen yogurt and half and half and quickly exit as I am thanked and asked to come again soon.