JINGLE. SLAM.
1978. THREE A.M. 7-Eleven. Very hungry. Looking for the little heat-lamp-warmed nut-variety display thing. Cashews are definitely NEEDED. NEEDED NOW.
Where are they? Slim Jims, jerky, rotating hot dogs, horoscopes? These are not hot nuts. Must have HOT NUTS.
Ask.
Ask the enormous scowling unfriendly muscled eyeglazed tattooed-before-soccer-moms-got-tattooed salesclerk.
Excuse me, do you have hot nuts?
Where’s your hot nut display?
I don’t see your hot nuts. Can I?
Jingle. Slam.
Sigh.