The floor is tile, and grey. I only know this because the doorway has a bit of a step-up. Which I tripped over. So I gave the floor a rather thorough investigation. In spite of the day’s drizzle, the floor was entirely clean. Well, until my rain-besmattered shoes squeaked a little trail of SAM WAS HERE behind me…
The entire place, really, reeked of hospital-clean. I guess I had expected a just-off-the-toll-road gas station to be filthy, smelling of urination and cigarettes and coffee. But, more than anything, it just smelled like Subway. I mean, it would make sense, what with the massive yellow-and-green Subway greeting me first thing… even the sunlight streaming in from the bay windows could not compare with the brightness that shone forth from that counter.
As I made my way ’round to the cash register, my friend greeted the lady behind it, inquiring after a lady named Shannon and whether or not she worked that day (she didn’t) and when she would be back (Monday, probably). As they spoke, I noticed that, though they weren’t loud, they made up for most of the noise in the room. Only the lady cleaning behind the Subway counter and a lady corralling her son around the cheerful-wrapper-bedecked shelves posed any competition.
Her hands were soft, as the lady took my change and extended it for a receipt.
And no, I didn’t eat anything.