You walk past the pump island to the store building. As you approach, you realize that it’s not a store in the usual sense. The structure is just one of those large, tall freezer cases like in grocery stores, with doors all over the outside except for one panel, which is a payment kiosk. Each door has notices of surveillance and prosecution printed on it, and big screens for advertising. At least one of the compartments has hot food, miserable slices of pizza sitting on a wire rack. Others have cold drinks, dry items, and frozen stuff.
You go to ring up your purchase at the payment kiosk, and in the final stage of your card processing, an error message pings onto the screen. “If the problem persists, please notify an associate with the call button.” Associate? There doesn’t seem to be anyone waiting at this icy gas station parking lot to help clueless customers. You try other items and your other card, but the same thing happens.
You can feel the sweat under all your layers and you’re getting chillier now that you’ve stopped moving. Rationally, you should just continue on and forget about the items, or just take them, but you’re not thinking straight and you feel stubborn.