Idiotapolis

(It’s the 90s. George W. Bush is of only academic interest outside of Texas. Pepsi Clear and Olestra are still current topics, and fuzzy puppets have yet to advise us that the Internet is for p*rn. I work at a gas station just twenty minutes north of DFW airport.)

Customer: “How do you get to [address] West Washington Street‎?”

Me: “There isn’t one in [Town], but might you mean in Dallas?”

Customer: *rolls eyes* “No, Indianapolis.”

Me: *laughs before noticing the customer isn’t laughing, too* “So, you don’t mean Dallas?”

Customer: “No. I mean Indianapolis.”

Me: “Sir, you’re in Texas.”

Customer: “Yes, yes! Now tell me how to get to [address] in Indianapolis!”

Me: “I don’t know. You’re a time zone and several states away.”

Customer: “How can you not know? This is a gas station!”

Me: “I can’t memorize every road in the US!”

Customer: “Well, you should!” *turns and slams the door on the way out*