After leaving work the other day, I stopped for gas. Fidgeting impatiently while the gas tank filled up, I decided to duck inside the gas station to satisfy my hunger. As my co-workers are all-too-fond of reminding me, this “eating a granola bar for lunch” business has to stop sometime. Real meals are the key. Which is why, at 5.30pm, I came to the conclusion that a quick candy run would alleviate my hunger pangs and ward off boredom while stuck in traffic on the way home. Maybe they would even have blue slurpees – any slurpees, dammit – inside the gas station.

Have I mentioned how hot it’s been in Northern California lately? It’s been really hot. So hot that I’ve taken to carrying a water bottle with me everywhere, which is a huge step for me, since impending dehydration is not something I’ve ever worried about before in my life. It’s so hot that when I closed my car door after removing my wallet from inside, I unlocked the car and reopened the door just to remove my water bottle as well, because I knew the water would become warm if it stayed inside.

I tucked the water bottle under my left arm and grasped my wallet with my right hand as I prepared to walk into the gas station’s convenience store. On second thought, What if they didn’t realize the water bottle was my own? I switched the items around, so that I was now loosely, visibly holding the water bottle by its neck.

Squinting at the numbers on my gas pump, I wandered into the convenience store. It was smaller than I had expected, and there definitely weren’t any slurpee machines to be seen. I scanned the few rows of candy. Nothing looked appetizing, all of a sudden, because I realized that I was hot and tired and what I really needed was not solid food, but, rather, something really, really cold to drink. Cranberry juice? There was none, except for cranberry-apple, if that counts, and, if you’re Picky Yasmine, then no, indeed it does not. Soda? No. Lemonade? Mmm, tempting, but lemonade makes me feel even thirstier when I’m already thirsty. Energy drinks? Just say no.

I stood with my face scrunched in uncertainty in front of the cold drinks section for a full two, three minutes as customers walked in and out of the store using the door right behind me. Finally, I gave up, turned around, and walked back out to my car.

I replaced the gas nozzle, then got in my car. As I fastened my seatbelt and fiddled with my CD player, I noticed a man standing a few feet away, seemingly directing a question at me. I watched his face, confused. Something about water? What the hell? I wondered. He saw my questioning expression, and repeated whatever he was saying, but I had no idea what he was going on about, besides the fact that it seemed to concern water.

Before my just drive on instinct had fully kicked in, I realized he was dressed in the uniform of a gas station attendant, so I rolled down my window. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You didn’t pay for your water,” he said flatly.

Oh, good lord. I was torn between annoyance and anxiety, but mostly anxiety. “No,” I denied, “it’s my own bottle. I walked in with it.”

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t see you walk in with it.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and went back inside.

What? That was it? I remained in the car, head turned apprehensively towards the store. Was he going inside for back-up or something? Wait, no, seriously, that was it? For reals? Did I look like someone who would steal a $1.25 water bottle? Even as I asked myself that last question, I knew it wasn’t about looking a certain way, and the man was quite justified in clarifying whether the bottle were mine or not.

Still, as I drove away, that last question made me laugh out loud, because I was quite a kleptomaniac in my childhood. Plastic jewelry, candy, makeup, Pez dispensers, knick-knacks and trinkets from the Exploratorium museum store… you name it, I managed to somehow smuggle it home. I only got caught once – for the Pez dispenser. Not that I’m proud of this, or anything.

But, no, as a 25-year-old, I’m not the type to get a thrill out of stealing $1.25 water bottles. My currently-preferred method of living life on the edge is to drive too fast (I tend to think of the speed limit as a suggestion – one which I conveniently ignore), gobble down fried foods with no concern for cholesterol, and thumb my nose at those who claim I’ll die of skin cancer because I deliberately spend so much time sitting directly in the sunshine, sans sunscreen.

Besides, if I really wanted to steal something, I wouldn’t go for $1.25 water bottles, anyway. Dangly earrings would be more in line with my tastes. Or perhaps I could concoct clever schemes to finagle cash out of sympathetic individuals, so that I could buy endless supplies of french fries and blue slurpees and crack, my ostensible drug of choice.

Which reminds me of another story, recent as well:

Smile on your brother!
Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

While at the gas station sometime last week, waiting for my tank to fill up, I opened the glove compartment, pulled out the maintenance manual that came with my car, and tried to figure out if it was time for another recommended oil change, since I had just hit the 10,000-mile mark. I was flipping through pages when I heard a voice outside my open window say, “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but…”

I looked up from my book and out the window. “Sorry, what?”

“Could you please help us out with gas money, maybe?” He was young and skinny, maybe in his late teens. He gestured at his car, parked on the other side of my pump.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Fresno,” he replied.

[That’s in the Central Valley, at least a three-hour drive.]

I flipped through my wallet, pulling out what little cash I had. “Here, I hope this helps.”

“Thanks so much!”

They looked slightly familiar, but, then again, I’ve spent time in so many different places that everyone looks slightly familiar to me, whether they’re acquaintances or strangers. They reminded me of the other boys at the gas station, months ago, and I momentarily watched them suspiciously, wondering if it were the same ones.

“How do you tell the difference between them?” Ray Bradbury wrote. “How can you tell which is honest, which isn’t?”

I can’t tell; perhaps I’m too nice or too gullible or I too easily trust those who don’t owe me the truth. But I believe in karma, I believe that what goes around comes around, I believe the world is a small place and we’re all connected somehow. These are some of the reasons why I give random boys gas money and why I smile sunnily at people who solicit donations in front of my local grocery store for various organizations, because even if I rarely ever have cash on me I still always pause just long enough to say, “Have a beautiful day!”, because that’s still a connection – however minor – and an acknowledgment that we share this world together.

And maybe I’m too trusting or too easily touched, but the fact that the recent gas station boy turned and waved across the parking lot as I drove away was enough to make my day.

Did I tell all y’all that my camera‘s broken? I probably didn’t. I think I got saltwater and sand in it, but who knows. Not I, since I was too busy blithely taking photos in said saltwater and sand to really be careful. Right smart of me, I know.

Anyway, a few days after my beach escapades, I turned on my camera. The lens wouldn’t retract, and the camera refused to take photos. Seriously, what drama. So I hunted around for my Costco receipt, stuffed everything back into the Canon box, did some research on another camera I had my eyes on (two upgrades up yet still cheaper than my old one, 2.5″ LCD, and a new ISO 800 option? Hell yeah!) and off I went to Costco.

Some guy named Carl at the Merchandise Return counter took back the camera, remarking, while inspecting it, “I like this camera.”

“I love this camera!” I said. “I’m really sad it’s not working any more.”

He counted out cash in twenty-dollar bills, handing me back $375. I stared. “Dude, I can’t even remember the last time I had that much cash on me.”

He laughed. “That’s a good thing, you know.”

I agreed.

I wandered off to the camera section, where I was disappointed to not see the SD600 I wanted. An employee named Madeline informed me it was only available online. GROSS! I said mentally. Outwardly, I just sighed and thanked her and inspected the few cameras displayed. I was stuck trying to decide between two little point-and-shoot digital cameras: One was smaller and cheaper, the other was a bit larger and more expensive, but it was a Nikon. But nothing looked as good as the SD600 that wasn’t there. What to do, what to do… I scrunched up my face, as I am wont to do when I can’t make up my mind (which means I perpetually walk around with a scrunched-up face, since I am so indecisive, it’s not even funny).

“Excuse me,” I asked the stranger next to me, “when they say ‘instant rebate,’ do they mean you get the rebate right at the register, when you pay for it?”

“Yes,” he said. He glanced at me curiously. “Are you looking to buy a digital camera?”

“Yeah, I wanted the Canon SD600, but they don’t have it here. I’ll have to check it out online, then.”

“My wife and I just bought a digital camera for our graduate recently, and now we’re looking for one ourselves. I think he really likes his.”

I smiled. “I bet he does. Mine was sort of a graduation present, too. Best thing ever!”

“Have you figured out what you’re looking for in a new camera?”

“Well, basically, I just returned the Canon SD400, and now I need a new one.”

I guess he took my response to mean I didn’t know much about cameras, because the kind man took it upon himself to educate me in the finer subtleties of digital technology. “Well, see, this one is 6.1 megapixels. That’s really good. You can even record videos on this one! Plus, it comes with a memory card.”

“Those are useless,” I said a trifle impatiently. “You can only fit, like, four photos on there, so you have to buy another one separately.”

He laughed. “Yeah. But, see, this Kodak one has internal memory, too, so you can save images directly to the camera, if you ever want to do that.”

“Oh.” This, then, I hadn’t heard of. “That’s kinda cool.”

His wife looked like she was done with her camera-browsing, so he started to turn away to join her. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too!”

I stood there for a long while, playing with the Kodak camera. I turned it on and off, and on again, checked to see if it had a manual setting (yeah, it’s called “Custom,” apparently), familiarized myself with the setup menus, looked to see if it had continuous shooting and a self-timer (yes to both), and took several photos of the advertising sign using the macro setting.

Another man stood nearby, doing his own camera-browsing. While I inspected my macro photos, he glanced over. “Excuse me,” he said, “do you know anything about digital cameras?”

I swallowed a laugh. Here I had gone from one guy thinking I didn’t know jack, to another guy thinking I looked like I knew what I was doing.

“A little bit,” I said. “I just returned a Canon, which was really good. They don’t have any Canons on display here, otherwise I would recommend those to you. And I don’t know anything about the other types of cameras here, except Nikon is, obviously, really well regarded.”

He nodded gravely.

I continued with a basic explanation (because that’s all I know) of megapixels and memory cards, shutter speeds and the different types of settings available. “You can record videos on some digital cameras, too!” I added excitedly.

“Thank you for your help,” he said formally, but smiling.

I approached Madeline the Camera Girl again. “Could you turn on that little Nikon for me, please?”

She couldn’t do that, for whatever lame reason I can’t remember, probably because it was so lame and useless. But she seemed friendly enough, so I harassed her into helping me make a decision: “See, what I really want is the Canon SD600, but, like you said, I’ll have to buy it online. Meanwhile, I need a camera to get me through the next week or two. Would you pick this Nikon, or this Kodak?”

“Girl, you need to just get one of those digital SLRs!” said Madeline.

“Buddy, those are rocking cameras,” I said, laughing, “but I’m not at that level yet. Plus, if I had a big camera like that, I wouldn’t be able to take it with me everywhere, and then I’d never use it.”

“Well, I saw one of your pictures when you were returning your camera, and I think you’re already at that level. Forget the point-and-shoot, we have a really nice Nikon SLR over there that you should look at instead.”

I shook my head, protesting, “I’m pretty much decided on that SD600.” I felt like a parrot, repeating the same thing over and over. “I wouldn’t have returned the one I had, if it hadn’t stopped working. I loved that thing, man.”

She smiled in sympathy. “I used to have that exact same one, too, until someone took it from me. It’s an awesome camera. I even read the entire manual that came with it, and everything!”

I started laughing. “Are you serious? I thought I was the only one who read instruction manuals! I felt bad, because I just returned that camera and forgot to take out all the little sticky-notes and marked pages I left in the manual.” We shook our heads at one another, amused.

“Okay,” I said, “but seriously, between the Nikon and the Kodak, which would you recommend?”

“Well,” said Madeline the Camera Girl, “I’d say go for the Kodak. It’s cheaper, and you’re going to be returning it in a week or two anyway, so you might as well save money meanwhile.”

“I like the way you think.”

“But,” she added, “I’m turning on that Nikon dSLR for you. You just let me know if you change your mind.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Maybe when I have more money, buddy.”

She tossed a parting shot over her shoulder as she moved away: “Start saving up!”

“I’ll try!” I called after her, knowing I wouldn’t, because saving? What’s that?

But I did stop by to check out the Nikon dSLR, which was suitably intimidating, and the only thing I managed to do was turn it off and then on again.

“How is it?” asked Madeline the Camera Girl, passing by.

“Scary,” I said.

I went off to pay for the Kodak camera, and ended up in a line adjacent to my friend of the camera lessons. “You picked one out!” he said, excited. “Congratulations!”

“Yep! Thanks!”

I waited for my turn to pay, and thought the guy before me in line was joking when he added, “And I’d also like two hotdogs and a Coke, please,” but apparently he wasn’t. When it was my turn, I asked the cashier, “We can pay for the food court items here, too?”

“That’s right.”

My eyes widened like those of a kid in a candy aisle. “Oooh,” I said. “Well, then, can I get three churros, too, please?”

“Sure.” He took my Costco card and swiped it, inspected the photo, and remarked in amusement as he handed the card back to me, “You’re smiling like a supermodel there.”

“Ha,” I said, uncomfortable as always with compliments. “That was the day I got my own real deal Costco card, and I was just hella excited about it.”

I paid for my new camera with some of the wads of cash that Carl from Merchandise Return had given me, and then picked up my churros from the food court. As I walked back towards the store exit, I passed none other than Carl himself, who glanced at the camera box under my arm, smiled widely, and exclaimed, “You found another one!”

“Yeah!”

I felt like a superstar. It was almost as if Costco had opened its doors that day only so that its customers and employees could cheer me on in my camera-shopping expedition. It was a feeling akin to that one song, Tell me what it’s like to be the one and only All American Girl, the All American Girl, the all amazing crazy girl.

The camera excitement lasted all of one afternoon, before I decided I hated this stupid Kodak camera with its horrendously grainy photo-viewing on the LCD screen, no viewfinder (Who cares? you say. I care, dammit!), and horrible menu setup.

I like viewfinders, even if I rarely use them. But what I mostly want – because the SD400 totally spoiled me – is easy-access setup and controls, like ISO settings and auto vs. manual switching on the main camera interface, so that I don’t have to stand there for 45 seconds too long, scrolling through menu options and switching settings when I could have taken five photos already. Geez, Kodak, get with the program already.

Also, since I feel the need to add a disclaimer, it’s not that I’m some sort of professional photographer. Digital cameras are now as ubiquitous as cell phones: Everyone and their grandmother has a digital camera these days; so do all my friends. But I do carry my camera with me everywhere, and I actually use it more often than anyone else I know, as evidenced by whatever I’ve uploaded to flickr (which is only a fraction of the photos I’ve taken, because my harddrive shows 10,000 photos since I bought my camera last August). A ten-month lifespan for a digital camera?! Well, that’s what I get for carrying it around 24/7, I suppose. And since the SD400 spoiled me so wonderfully, it’s only right that I find a replacement that lives up to the same standard.

I ordered the SD600 online yesterday, and now I keep logging into the Costco website every chance I get and compulsively clicking on “Order Status,” which doesn’t tell me anything except Your order processing is in process. Bear in mind that I went with the Express Shipping option, and my order is still in process? It’s enough to make one want to stab somebody.

This morning, I woke up because my cell phone beeped, and it was a text message from my buddy J, asking, “‘Sup, photo paparazzi supreme?” Seriously, I love my friends. They know how to alleviate stab-worthy situations.