I'VE NEVER BEEN A GAS STATION DRINKER, BUT ONCE IS OKAY

One Friday, I was going about my usual afternoon routine, doing the ice hockey lifting at the McFit gym, playing some street hockey at the Donau Arena, when I nearly forgot that my refrigerator had no milk in it.  I decided that I would see if the gas station that I passed on the bike ride home sold milk.

Setting the scene, whenever I decide to play hockey at the rink, I must ride my bike with my hockey stick in my left hand, making it completely obvious what I am about to/ have been doing.  Anyways, I pulled into this gas station, found the milk, and decided that for double the price of the grocery store, I could wait until the morning.  

As I went back outside, things began to get interesting.  Next to where my bike was locked, there was an ATM machine, and surrounding the ATM machine was a group of five people drinking beers.  The composition of the group itself fit no stereotype.  There was a woman in her mid-30s wearing a dress as if she just left work, three men in their 50s looking a little more worn and scruffy, and the typical German scientist, with his extremely sharp-looking black-framed glasses, short hair, and that almost nerdy getup.  

Quick note on time: it was about 7pm.

I didn't make much of them, until the woman charged at me saying, "Spielst du Eishockey?" (Do you play ice hockey?).  To which I responded, "Ja..." (Yes...).  Next, either my accent or the fact that Germans just don't ride bikes with hockey sticks in their hands, she asked me where I was from.  I said that I come from New Hampshire, but I study in Massachusetts (sometimes only the latter is familiar with people here).  Her face lit up as she told me what I already know, "You are American!"  Yes, she said it in English.  Then she felt compelled to pull my arm over to her friends and introduce me.  "HALLO, HALLO," she said trying to get their attention.  "Hier ist...," (Here is...) but she didn't know my name.  So she asked me,"Wie heißt du?" (How do you call yourself?).  I responded, "Ich heiße Bill." (I am called Bill (lit)).  And as if they didn't hear, she repeated my name to them.

By the time that I entered the drinkers' circle, everybody was a little beyond 'sloshed.'  I asked her if they had been drinking at the gas station all night, but then corrected myself by saying afternoon (again, it was only 7pm).  They said that they had started at the bar and moved to the gas station as if that were the logical sequence of action.  We talked for a few more minutes, and when I felt thoroughly awkward with the situation, I began to get on my bike and ride away.  CUE THE TORRENTIAL DOWN POURING, THUNDER, AND LIGHTENING!!!  Oh geez, I thought.  The woman told me that I could not leave, "look at the weather."  She insisted that I have a beer with them and began scrummaging through her purse for coins to buy me a beer. 

About twenty minutes later, I rejected the offer for more beer, and set off into the sunset on my roommate's father's sketchy bicycle.  To this group of five Germans, I must have looked like a knight.  Only I rode not a horse, but an inefficient heap of metal, and I carried not a sword, but an Easton Ultralite hockey stick.  It was an interesting Friday.