We pulled off state highway 46 at a Shell gas station on a hill overlooking Interstate 10 stretching west to El Paso and back east to San Antonio. I waited with the dog at a picnic table while Trudy walked in for a drink. When she came out, I went in.
There was a young woman standing behind the counter holding a big pot under running water.
“Fine thing,” I said as I pulled a bag of nuts off the shelf. “Working on Thanksgiving day, what a drag.”
“Not really,” she said as she scrubbed the pot. “I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
I raised my eyebrows and finished filling my Diet Dr. Pepper. And as I paid for my snacks, I looked up and said, “Well, Happy Thanksgiving, anyway.”
She scowled and stared off into space, consciously avoiding my eyes. And I could hear her mumbling discontentedly as I left.
I guess that wasn’t the right thing to say.