On Many Subjects

If you stop by your local gas station/convenience store to fuel up your car and your coffee mug for even more holiday shopping and a woman charges in with her oily streaky hair hanging in nasty ropes and she is wearing a ripped pink terry-cloth bathrobe with untied dirty white tennis shoes on her feet and she left her old rusty hoopty car running in the parking lot, you should probably just let her jump in front of you so she can buy her cigarettes.