Just returned from an emergency run to Wilson Farms. I know, I know, it's technically still Sunday...but the ox was in the mire (just remembered that tomorrow is my co-teacher's birthday, and we had no eggs for me to make her a cake), so I decided that 11:35 pm was close enough to 12:00 am, and I dashed down the road to buy a couple of eggs.
Wilson Farms is just at the end of our street--on the corner of Highgate and Bailey--so I drove there in about 30 seconds, hopped out of my car, and ran into the empty store. As I walked towards the dairy case, I got a strange look (candy corn pjs again) from the worker and the armed guard, and then--WAIT--armed guard? I did a double take. Oh yes, there was a big, black, armed guard standing with his arms crossed by the door.
So as I was waiting for the worker to come ring me out (she conveniently disappeared just as her only customer for the night stepped up to the counter), I struck up a conversation with the large guard.
"Are you here every night?" I asked.
"No, only Saturday and Sunday," he responded, appearing quite pleased that I was actually talking to him.
"But is someone here every night?" I persisted.
"Oh, yeah. One of us is."
"Wow, that's scary. I guess that means that there is a need for you to be here every night, huh?"
His response: "Girly, you have no idea."
Note to self: If ever you need eggs in the middle of the night again, it might be best to drive the 10 minutes to Wegmans in Amherst. Better to lose gas and sleep than to lose your life.