I love Slurpees. They taste good, give a hit of caffeine, help cool you down on a hot day, provide a social lubricant (much like alcohol but without most of the stigmas), connect with my childhood and allow me share link from my youth with my boys.
There is so much to love. From the sign outside the store “Oh, Thank Heaven” to the anticipation – will they have Coke, and will it be well mixed?
The problem is, they are only sold domestically at 7-11. Canada offers a whole other, beautiful realm of Slurpee goodness. If you happen to cross into Canada through Blaine take the truck route, where you might find the secret Slurpee shrine offering the best in the world. They are worth a trip out of the country. I've also had one in Thailand, which wasn't worth the trip. It was a nice slice of Americana far from home but the flavors were a bit too foreign. Cola wasn't an option so I chose banana over kidney bean. The U.S. leaves Thailand in the dust in Slurpee technology, but compared to Canada, we are limited in our choices of flavor, texture and most importantly destination.
For me the nearest one is just a few blocks away so it is a convenient convenience store. However it is not the best part of town. That may imply my neighborhood is in the slums, but that isn’t the case. I just happen to live near the boundary of two neighborhoods. The short walk toward 7-11 takes you past two pawn shops, a payday loan center, across a bridge/homeless camp and near an Albertson’s.
I haven’t visited every Albertson’s but I can speak with authority about the one near me. It is the white trash grocery store. Because of this we don’t go very often, but every time we do (and I mean EVERY time) the point is hammered in. You are guaranteed to see some guy in a wife beater yelling drunkenly at his baby’s mama, or the mama slapping him around. And on a good day, both. “My” 7-11 sits on a corner between the homeless bridge and Albertson’s so you can picture what I’m up against.
Kim works half-time so she gets to spend the afternoon with Lucas and Jack. I am limited to evenings and weekends, plus an hour at lunch when I pick them up at school. I decided to make that hour a little more fun by periodically stopping for a Slurpee. Something fun to do with dad. Turns out both boys like them now, plus it’s hot as hell, so we detoured to 7-11.
This was not the day to do it. Both Orange (Jack's preference) and Blue Raspberry (Lucas' choice) were out of order, which left only Mango as a caffeine-free choice for the kids. Plus it takes a couple of minutes to fill three cups, tamp them down, re-fill, get the lids and choose the right color of straw. Especially with Lucas. Still, first come, first served. As I was getting the lids I sensed someone behind me. I looked and saw her standing in front of the soda machine, just standing there. She was either deciding to get a soda or waiting for her turn at the Slurpees. Apparently she wanted a Slurpee but was not accustomed to waiting in line.
She made a couple of comments about needing the right color straw and something else I couldn't understand. I replied that if she wanted a Slurpee we were done and she could go around. That would have required too much effort on her part and I needed to move. Well, the boys were with me so I didn’t want to say too much. Actually, I did want to say a lot, but I was afraid to start a fight. There were three women together, each of which could have taken me. The interaction was very tense and also somewhat hard to understand. Through the brief conversation I couldn’t tell if the women were being sarcastic or suffered some sort of deficiency. Honest, I couldn’t tell. This confusion helped me hold my tongue but I left not really wanting to go back. The three were all very unpleasant and considerably older than me, easily in their fifties. Though I understand the down-trodden age prematurely so their haggard look could have misled me as to their age. Either way they were old enough that they should have been able to understand waiting their turn. Or at least a little tact.
Now I am faced with a conundrum. Slurpees or forays into the seedy part of town? It also leaves me asking if 7-11 has a stigma I had ignored to this point? Strangely I walked out of there with my dander up, but also full of self-loathing and some sort of residual guilt. Oridnarilly you don't feel that way after a treat unless you have an eating disorder. Oh well, given the right flavor the boys like them so we will find a way to fufull the Slurpee urge.
There is so much to love. From the sign outside the store “Oh, Thank Heaven” to the anticipation – will they have Coke, and will it be well mixed?
The problem is, they are only sold domestically at 7-11. Canada offers a whole other, beautiful realm of Slurpee goodness. If you happen to cross into Canada through Blaine take the truck route, where you might find the secret Slurpee shrine offering the best in the world. They are worth a trip out of the country. I've also had one in Thailand, which wasn't worth the trip. It was a nice slice of Americana far from home but the flavors were a bit too foreign. Cola wasn't an option so I chose banana over kidney bean. The U.S. leaves Thailand in the dust in Slurpee technology, but compared to Canada, we are limited in our choices of flavor, texture and most importantly destination.
For me the nearest one is just a few blocks away so it is a convenient convenience store. However it is not the best part of town. That may imply my neighborhood is in the slums, but that isn’t the case. I just happen to live near the boundary of two neighborhoods. The short walk toward 7-11 takes you past two pawn shops, a payday loan center, across a bridge/homeless camp and near an Albertson’s.
I haven’t visited every Albertson’s but I can speak with authority about the one near me. It is the white trash grocery store. Because of this we don’t go very often, but every time we do (and I mean EVERY time) the point is hammered in. You are guaranteed to see some guy in a wife beater yelling drunkenly at his baby’s mama, or the mama slapping him around. And on a good day, both. “My” 7-11 sits on a corner between the homeless bridge and Albertson’s so you can picture what I’m up against.
Kim works half-time so she gets to spend the afternoon with Lucas and Jack. I am limited to evenings and weekends, plus an hour at lunch when I pick them up at school. I decided to make that hour a little more fun by periodically stopping for a Slurpee. Something fun to do with dad. Turns out both boys like them now, plus it’s hot as hell, so we detoured to 7-11.
This was not the day to do it. Both Orange (Jack's preference) and Blue Raspberry (Lucas' choice) were out of order, which left only Mango as a caffeine-free choice for the kids. Plus it takes a couple of minutes to fill three cups, tamp them down, re-fill, get the lids and choose the right color of straw. Especially with Lucas. Still, first come, first served. As I was getting the lids I sensed someone behind me. I looked and saw her standing in front of the soda machine, just standing there. She was either deciding to get a soda or waiting for her turn at the Slurpees. Apparently she wanted a Slurpee but was not accustomed to waiting in line.
She made a couple of comments about needing the right color straw and something else I couldn't understand. I replied that if she wanted a Slurpee we were done and she could go around. That would have required too much effort on her part and I needed to move. Well, the boys were with me so I didn’t want to say too much. Actually, I did want to say a lot, but I was afraid to start a fight. There were three women together, each of which could have taken me. The interaction was very tense and also somewhat hard to understand. Through the brief conversation I couldn’t tell if the women were being sarcastic or suffered some sort of deficiency. Honest, I couldn’t tell. This confusion helped me hold my tongue but I left not really wanting to go back. The three were all very unpleasant and considerably older than me, easily in their fifties. Though I understand the down-trodden age prematurely so their haggard look could have misled me as to their age. Either way they were old enough that they should have been able to understand waiting their turn. Or at least a little tact.
Now I am faced with a conundrum. Slurpees or forays into the seedy part of town? It also leaves me asking if 7-11 has a stigma I had ignored to this point? Strangely I walked out of there with my dander up, but also full of self-loathing and some sort of residual guilt. Oridnarilly you don't feel that way after a treat unless you have an eating disorder. Oh well, given the right flavor the boys like them so we will find a way to fufull the Slurpee urge.
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