TumbleDweeeb

Dating Dilemmas, Critical Blogs, and Bear Conspiracies

   Friday night at Chill n’Fill was shaping up to be one of those evenings where people seemed compelled to share their deepest existential crises with whoever happened to be working the register. Behind me, tonight’s painting had materialized as Caspar David Friedrich’s “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog”… that lone figure standing on a cliff, contemplating vast uncertainty. The radio was playing “Somebody to Love” by Queen, like it knew the evening was going to involve a lot of philosophical hand-wringing about romance and loneliness.
   The first customer of the night embodied that contemplative energy perfectly. She was a woman in her late twenties who approached the counter with the weary expression of a person worn down by overthinking the fundamental problems of modern romance until her brain hurt.
      “Can I ask you something?” she said, setting down a bottle of wine and a package of chocolate that screamed ‘I’m emotionally tuned to everybody.’ She glanced at my name tag. “Karlee, right?”
     “Sure,” I replied, though experience had taught me that late-night convenience store questions rarely had simple answers.
      “Being single is boring, dating is stressful, and hoeing around is risky,” she announced with the matter-of-fact tone of a person delivering a mathematical theorem. “So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
   I paused mid-scan, genuinely impressed by how succinctly she’d summarized the todays dating dilemma. “That’s… actually a pretty comprehensive view of the situation.”
      “Right?” she continued, warming to her theme. “Like, when you’re single, you’re bored out of your mind. Netflix and wine every night gets old real fast. But then you try dating, and it’s nothing but stress… wondering if they’re going to text back, analyzing every word in their messages, trying to figure out if they actually like you or if they’re just being polite.”
    “And the alternative?” I asked, though I suspected I knew where this was going.
      “Hoeing around,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Which sounds fun in theory, but in practice? STDs, crazy people, emotional complications you didn’t sign up for. Plus, let’s be honest, most people are terrible at casual relationships. Feelings always develop or things get really weird…”
   She stared at her wine bottle like it might contain the answers to life’s romantic mysteries. “So I’m stuck in this triangle of unsatisfying options. Boring solitude, stressful courtship, or risky casual encounters. There’s got to be a fourth option, right?”
      “Maybe the fourth option is just… accepting that all relationships involve some level of risk or discomfort?” I suggested. “Like, maybe the goal isn’t to find the option with zero downsides, but to figure out which downsides you can live with?”
    “Damn, Karlee,” she said, looking genuinely thoughtful. “That’s really wise… could be really depressing.”
      “Why not both?” I grinned, handing her the receipt.
   As she left, contemplating her romantic triangle of doom, the radio shifted to “The Times They Are a-Changin’” by Bob Dylan, just as a man in his early thirties burst through the doors with the enthusiasm of a person who’d just discovered the secret to changing the world through the power of blogging.
      “You look like a person of intellectual honesty,” he announced, approaching the counter with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder and the confident stride of an artist unveiling a revolutionary idea.
    “That’s… one way to start a conversation,” I replied, watching him select an energy drink and what appeared to be enough caffeine-based snacks to fuel an all-night writing session.
      “I’m starting a blog,” he declared with the fervor of a man who’d found his calling. “And I think you’re going to love the concept.”
    “I’m listening,” I said, genuinely curious despite myself.
      “It’s called ‘I Call … BULLSHIT!’” he announced triumphantly. “The whole premise is critically examining widely-accepted ideas or trends that everyone just goes along with but that actually deserve serious scrutiny.”
   He pulled out his laptop and opened it to show me a rough website layout. “See, we live in a world where people just accept things without thinking. Social media trends, diet fads, relationship advice, career guidance … half of it is complete nonsense, but nobody wants to be the voice finally calling out that the emperor’s new clothes are … no clothes.”
      “So you’re going to be that voice?” I asked. (My 3rd grade teacher warned us all about these “new” clothes)
    “Exactly! Take the whole ‘follow your passion’ career advice,” he said, his face brightening with the joy of a person who’d found his calling in debunking everyone else’s calling. “Complete bullshit. Most people’s passions don’t pay the bills, and most successful people developed passion for things they were already good at, not the other way around.”
   I scanned his energy drink and snacks while he continued his pitch.
      “Or the ‘self-care’ industry,” he went on. “Half of what they call self-care is just expensive ways to avoid dealing with your actual problems. A $300 skincare routine isn’t self-care if you’re neglecting your mental health or your relationships.”
     “You’ve clearly put some thought into this,” I observed.
    “Oh, I’ve got months of content planned,” he said proudly. “The myth of work-life balance, the cult of productivity hacks, the delusion that expensive organic food is automatically healthier… there’s so much accepted wisdom that needs a good, hard look in the mirror.”
   As he gathered his caffeine supplies, he handed me a business card. “Check out the blog when it launches next week, Karlee. I think you’ll appreciate a voice finally calling out the nonsense that everyone else is too polite to question.”
   After he left to begin his crusade against widely-accepted wisdom, the radio transitioned to Marilyn Manson and Johnny Depp’s cover of “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. The timing was perfect, because the next customer who entered brought with her the kind of paranoid self-importance that suggested the evening was about to take a sharp turn into psychological thriller territory.
   She was a woman in her forties who approached the counter with the hypervigilant expression of a person who’d convinced herself that the world revolved around monitoring her every move. She didn’t buy anything … just marched straight to the counter with the determined stride of a person about to confront a conspiracy.
      “I need to know about the bear,” she announced without preamble, pointing toward our front window where the towering 20-foot polar bear stood beside the neon Chill n’Fill sign. Bob’s latest creation was currently dressed as a chef with a paper hat and an apron reading “Home Cooking Hits Different,” but the real masterpiece was the winking eye … a trash can lid stamped “Cheinco 1957” that Bob had rigged with a garage door opener to mechanically wink at passing traffic. Christmas lights beneath the eye lid, creating a sparkling wink even at night.
    “What about the bear?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling about where this was heading.
      “Don’t play dumb,” she said with the intensity of a person who’d spent considerable time analyzing the deeper meaning of our polar bear mascot. “I know it’s about me. The outfits, the messages, the way it’s positioned so I can see it every time I drive by. People are sending me signals.”
   I stared at her, trying to process this level of self-focused paranoia. “Ma’am, I can assure you, the bear isn’t about you.”
      “Then explain the chef outfit,” she demanded. “I’m a chef. I work at the diner down the road. That’s not a coincidence.”
    “It’s really not about you,” I said gently but firmly. “Bob… he’s the owner slash, manager … his soulmate requested a name change for the gas station, asked him to evolve the whole place into something better than just a place to buy gas and snacks. Bob took it upon himself to dress the bear because a plain polar bear is boring. And that winking eye? … a gesture of appreciation and love to his lobster friend with a promise. The Christmas lights make it sparkle at night. It’s about Bob’s relationships and commitments, not secret messages to customers.”
   Her brow furrowed with suspicion. “His ‘soulmate’? That sounds made up. Bob has no soulmate.”
       “I promise you, Bob’s not putting anything out there about you specifically,” I continued, then decided to lean into some … psychological, some… reverse psychology. “Though honestly, if Bob were trying to send people secret messages, he wouldn’t do it somewhere obvious like the Front Window Where EVERYONE Could See It. He’d put it in places you’d never think to look… under your nose but not too far from sight.”
   The suggestion seemed to hit her like a revelation. Her posture shifted from focused suspicion to scattered anxiety as she began scanning the entire store for hidden messages she might have missed. She walked around, examining product displays, checking behind promotional signs, scrutinizing the arrangement of items on shelves.
   Finally, her search led her to our vape display case on the counter. There, tucked between the colorful vape cartridges and e-liquid bottles, was a small handwritten sign that read: “Those who wander in circles see what’s on display, while seekers of truth must learn the right questions, a light to guide their way. Real messages hide where the curious think to request, maps to destinations put wisdom to the test.”
       “What is that?” she demanded, pointing at the riddle with the intensity of a person who’d just uncovered a government conspiracy.
    “Oh, that?” I said with studied casualness, as if I’d completely forgotten about the cryptic message tucked away in our vape display. “That’s been there for weeks. Bob’s always putting up weird little notes. Probably something about inventory management or supplier contacts.”
  But she wasn’t buying my casual dismissal. She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the riddle, then read it aloud again with growing excitement. “Those who wander in circles see what’s on display… while seekers of truth must learn the right questions, a light to guide their way.” She looked up at the ceiling lights and then looked at me with the triumph of a person who’d cracked a code. “This isn’t about inventory. This is about finding something hidden, something that requires asking the right questions.”
   I watched her carefully, then leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make her lean in too. “You know,” I said thoughtfully, “sometimes the most obvious explanations are exactly what they want you to believe. Bob does read philosophy, that’s true. But…” I paused, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers, “have you ever noticed how some people wait their whole lives for the right person to ask the right questions? How they leave signs for a specific individual, their intended recipient they’ve been waiting for?”
   Her jaw tightened. “You mean…”
      “I mean,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, “what if that riddle isn’t random at all? What if it’s been there, waiting for the person who would recognize it for what it truly is? The individual who wouldn’t just dismiss it as Bob being philosophical?”
   She was hanging on every word now. “The bear… the riddle… they’re not separate things, are they?”
   I shrugged with practiced ambiguity. “That towering 20-foot bear, winking day and night with Christmas lights, dressed differently each week… and a hidden riddle about seeking truth and asking the right questions. Could be coincidence.” I paused meaningfully. “Or it could be that people have been waiting a very long time for the right individual to connect the dots.”
      “How long?” she whispered.
    “Some people wait years,” I said softly. “Decades, even. Leaving signs, hoping that someday, their intended recipient will finally see what’s been there all along. The question is…” I looked directly into her face, “are you the person those signs were meant for? Or are you just an individual who happened to notice them?”
   She stared at the riddle, then back at me, her conspiracy theory evolving into something deeper, more personal. “What if I am? What if I’ve been missing the signs this whole time?”
      “Then maybe,” I said quietly, “you should start asking the right questions.”
   She stood there for a moment, clearly recalibrating her entire understanding of what she’d discovered. Instead of focusing on paranoid theories about messages meant to mock or manipulate her, she now had to consider the possibility that she might be the intended recipient of something much more significant … signs left by a person who’d been waiting for her to find them.
      “I need to go,” she said softly, backing toward the door while clutching her phone with the riddle photos. “I have some thinking to do. And some questions to figure out.”
    “Good luck,” I called after her, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and uncertainty about the psychological journey I’d just guided her through.
  As she left, presumably to spend considerable time analyzing every detail of her life for signs she might have missed, the radio shifted to Weezer’s “Hash Pipe” – that driving, unapologetic anthem about embracing who you are despite what others think. The timing felt perfect, like the universe was delivering a personal pep talk. I looked up at Friedrich’s lonely wanderer contemplating the foggy landscape and wondered if I’d just helped a person find their way or sent them deeper into a beautiful delusion. Either way, Rivers Cuomo’s defiant vocals reminded me that sometimes the best stories come from the messiest, most complicated human interactions.
   I pulled out my phone to text Evan… the Hash Pipe guitar riff fueling my fingers as I typed in that rhythm: “Even, tonight’s existential crisis lineup: Woman trapped in triangle of boring singleness, stressful dating, and risky casual encounters. Blogger launching ‘I Call BULLSHIT!’ to debunk widely-accepted wisdom… actually sounds promising, so promising that it could strip the new clothes off of any naked emperor! A paranoid woman convinced our mascot bear was sending her personal messages, then discovered Bob’s riddle in vape display and now thinks she’s uncovered a secret communication network requiring the ‘right questions’ to unlock hidden destinations (I may have accidentally created a conspiracy theorist who’ll end up obsessed over Bob and the Chill’n’Fill, observing … every.single.step.we.take). Tonight’s ‘Wanderer above the Sea of Fog’ painting perfectly captured everyone’s confused contemplation of life’s uncertainties.”
   Another night at Chill n’Fill, where customer service sometimes involved relationship counseling, blog consulting, and sophisticated psychological manipulation that might have just helped an individual find what they’d been looking for all along. The radio played on with Weezer’s raw energy, the lonely wanderer continued his eternal contemplation, and I settled in to see what other modern dilemmas and mysteries the evening might bring through our doors.