Gizzards

He was a tall, lanky young fellow, this specimen standing next to me at the gas station minimart. Probably about 30. Short hair, glasses, ears that could be used for radar. He had a cartoonish overbite. He looked like he was dressed for an occupation in some office.

Next to us was a glass enclosure where food items were for sale. Most of them were deep fried, meaning the consumables were immersed in boiling hot fat. Then they sat under heat lamps until such time as a customer requested one. Several of the deep fried products were originally pigs or chickens that had been killed, cut up, deep fried, and assigned a price.

A clerk asked what the young man wanted. Without hesitation he said, almost with a sense of pride, "Gizzards, please!"

Gizzards. Some part of an animal, probably poultry in this case, that vaguely has some function involving digestion. Never before had I heard the word "gizzards" uttered in a public place with such gusto. This meant the young man had to actually build up some extra energy in his lungs before exhaling the word that would bring him what he desired. And his desire must have been strong. For gizzards.

I wonder why.

The clerk went to the enclosed case, removed some deep fried gizzards, and placed them in a small black plastic bag. The young man was told the price, he paid it, and then confidently strode out of the store with his small black plastic bag of deep fried gizzards.

A couple minutes later I drove past him as he was walking down the street, eating the food that was now his by virtue of the fact he had traded tokens of his labor for it. He had a blankly pleased expression, like he was happy but possibly unaware he was happy.

I wonder if, after we die, there is someone around to explain some of the mysteries of life we had experienced.