TumbleDweeeb

Chill’n’Fill
Book 3: Episode 3
Solo Adventures, Small Circles, and Open Hearts
Written by: Emmitt Owens
(Index #07282025)

   It’s a Thursday night and the Chill n’Fill had that energy peaking with the approaching weekend—not quite busy, but filled with anticipation. I looked up from organizing the beer cooler to admire our one-eyed polar bear mascot in its latest incarnation. Bob had really outdone himself this time, transforming the bear into what could only be described as “Retro Gaming Bear.”
   The bear now sported a carefully crafted Tetris block hat made from painted cardboard squares in classic Tetris colors—blue, orange, green, and yellow—stacked and arranged to look like a completed line about to disappear. Around its neck, instead of the usual chalkboard, hung a miniature arcade-style sign reading “GAME OVER? PRESS START TO CONTINUE.” Most impressively, Bob had somehow fashioned tiny Pac-Man ghosts from what appeared to be colored cotton balls and attached them to the bear’s fur like it was being chased through a maze. The mechanical eye, made from that familiar garbage can lid stamped “Cheinco 1957,” now had small LED lights arranged around it in a pattern reminiscent of Pac-Man’s power pellets.
   Above my register, Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” had replaced last week’s painting—the stern farmer and his daughter staring out with that mix of determination and wariness that somehow felt perfect for a place where people came to share their deepest uncertainties. Bob had been passionate about art since childhood, believing that meaningful paintings created a more inspiring atmosphere for both customers and staff.
   The store’s PA system crackled to life, interrupting my admiration of Bob’s latest artistic endeavors.
       “Attention valued Chill n’Fill family and automotive enthusiasts!” Bob’s voice carried that supercharged enthusiasm he reserved for what he considered important announcements. “Management wishes to remind our beautiful customers that directly across the street, you’ll find Mad Mechanics—Buzzard Roost’s finest automotive repair establishment. Whether you need routine maintenance or major repairs, the skilled technicians at Mad Mechanics do some really good work. Tell them Bob from Chill n’Fill sent you, and they’ll treat you right. Supporting local businesses supports our community. That is all.”
   I shook my head with a smile. Only Bob would use our store’s PA system to advertise for the competition across the street. But that was Bob—always looking out for everyone in his own unique way.
   The evening was settling into its familiar rhythm when the automatic doors slid open to admit my first customer. She was a woman in her late twenties, dressed in jeans and a comfortable sweater, carrying herself with the energy of someone who was working up the courage to ask an important question. She browsed the aisles for several minutes, picking up items with the distracted attention of someone whose mind was elsewhere.
   Finally, she approached my counter with a bottle of water and a small bag of trail mix—the fuel of someone planning an adventure.
       “Just these tonight?” I asked, noting her nervous energy.
     “Actually,” she began, then paused, looking at me like someone who  rehearsed the conversation. “Can I ask you something? This might sound weird, but… what’s your advice for someone who wants to start doing things alone but feels nervous about it?”
   Before I could answer, our mysteriously responsive radio crackled to life with Sara Bareilles’ “Brave,” its empowering message about finding the courage to speak your truth filling the store with perfect timing.
       “What kind of things?” I asked, genuinely interested in her question.
     “Everything,” she laughed, but there was nervousness behind it. “Movies, restaurants, maybe even travel someday. I’ve always done things with friends or boyfriends, but I’m single now and my friends are all busy with their own lives. I want to experience things, but the thought of walking into a restaurant alone or going to a movie by myself makes me panic.”
   Sara Bareilles’ encouraging lyrics seemed to underscore her desire to step out of her comfort zone.
     “I went to a coffee shop alone last week,” she continued, paying for her items but clearly needing to finish her thought. “Just for an hour with a book. And it was actually… nice? But then I started overthinking everything. Was I taking up a table too long? Did people think I was weird? Were they wondering why I was alone?”
       “How did you get comfortable being out in the world by yourself?” she asked. “I mean, assuming you are. You seem like someone who’d be confident doing things solo.”
   I laughed, then had to move a half-eaten glazed donut I’d apparently left behind the register during my dinner break. “Oh, I definitely wasn’t always. I used to eat lunch in my car because I was too embarrassed to sit alone in the cafeteria. But honestly? I got tired of missing out on things just because no one else wanted to do them.”
     “Really?”
       “Really. Like, I wanted to see this movie that all my friends said looked boring. So I either had to skip it or go alone. I finally went alone and realized…”
   The Slushie machine behind me suddenly let out a loud, prolonged gurgle that made us both jump.
     “Sorry, that thing has the worst timing,” I said, laughing. “But yeah, I realized nobody cared. I was way more focused on the movie than I would’ve been with friends anyway.”
   She nodded, then there was this awkward pause where we both seemed to realize we were having a deeper conversation than either of us expected.
       “I think the trick is starting with stuff where being alone feels normal,” I continued, wiping down the counter just to have something to do with my hands. “Coffee shops, lunch counters, bookstores. Places where lots of people go solo anyway. Then you realize it’s not weird at all.”
     “What about the judging thing though?”
       “Honestly? Most people are too busy with their own stuff to even notice. And if they do think something, it’s probably more like ‘wish I was confident enough to—’”
     “CINDY! THE ICE CREAM FREEZER IS MAKING THAT SOUND AGAIN!” Bob’s voice suddenly boomed from the back office, followed by what sounded like him attempting to sing along to Sara Bareilles with completely wrong lyrics: “Say what you wanna say, and let the words fall out, something something SHOUT!”
     “—to do that,” I finished, rolling my eyes. “Sorry, he thinks every machine sound is an emergency. And apparently every song is karaoke night.”
   She gathered her adventure supplies with a more confident posture. “You know what? I’m going to try that new hiking trail this weekend. By myself.”
       “That sounds perfect,” I encouraged. “And remember—if you’re not enjoying it, you can always leave. But give yourself the chance to discover what you like when it’s just you making the choices.”
   She left with the stride of someone determined and ready to embrace solo adventures, Sara Bareilles’ anthem of courage following her out into the night.
   The store settled into its evening quiet, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the refrigeration units and the distant sound of cars passing on the street. About an hour later, the doors opened again to admit a woman in her early thirties who moved with the comfortable confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was.
   She selected her items thoughtfully—a specialty tea, some artisanal chocolate, and a magazine—the choices of someone who appreciated quality over quantity. When she approached the counter, she had the demeanor of someone content with her choices.
       “Evening,” she said with a warm smile, setting her items down carefully.
     “Long day?” I asked, scanning her purchases.
       “Good day, actually,” she replied. “But I’ve been thinking about something all week, and you seem like someone who might have perspective on it.”
   As if sensing her contemplative mood, the radio shifted to The Lumineers’ “Gloria,” its folk melody creating a perfect backdrop for thoughtful conversation.
       “I’m someone who’s happier with a small circle of close friends than trying to be popular with everyone,” she began, paying for her items but settling in for what felt like a meaningful exchange. “But sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out by not putting myself out there more.”
     “What makes you wonder that?” I asked.
       “Social media, mostly,” she laughed. “I see people with huge friend groups, always at parties or events, posting about all these amazing experiences with dozens of people. And then there’s me—I’d rather have dinner with my three closest friends than go to a party with fifty people I barely know.”
   The Lumineers’ harmonies seemed to celebrate the beauty of intimate connections over flashy social performances.
       “But then I worry,” she continued, “am I being too picky, or am I just scared of putting myself out there? Like, should I be saying yes to more stuff?”
     “How do you feel after hanging out with your close friends versus going to big parties?” I asked.
       “With my friends? Amazing. Like I can totally be myself. After parties…” she paused. “Exhausted, usually. Like I spent the whole time trying to be someone I’m not.”
   We both went quiet for a second. I started reorganizing the gum display because the silence was getting weird, accidentally knocking over a pack of “Zombie Zits” bubble gum that made us both snort with laughter.
     “Sorry, I don’t know who names these things,” I said, putting the pack back. “But yeah, sounds like you already know what works for you.”
       “You think? But what if I’m missing out on meeting amazing people?”
     “I mean, are the people at those parties actually amazing, or do they just seem amazing because there’s a lot of them?” I asked, then immediately worried that sounded judgmental. “Wait, that came out wrong. I don’t mean party people are bad or anything. I just mean… I don’t know if that makes sense, but having a bunch of acquaintances isn’t the same as having real friends, right?”
       “No, you’re totally right!” she said, getting animated again. “My friends have been through everything with me—breakups, job stuff, family drama. We actually show up for each other. That’s not something you get from—”
   The coffee machine chose that moment to start its automatic cleaning cycle with a series of loud hisses and gurgles, followed by Bob’s voice from the back: “Oh, when the saints go MARCHING in, oh when the saints go marching… CINDY IS THE COFFEE MAKER SUPPOSED TO SOUND LIKE A DYING WHALE?”
       “—from networking events,” she finished, laughing at the chaos. “Does he always provide commentary?”
     “You think so?”
       “I think authentically selective means your choices align with what actually fulfills you, not what you think should fulfill you. Playing it safe would be avoiding all social situations because you’re afraid. But it sounds like you’re actively choosing the kinds of connections that work for you.”
   She nodded slowly. “I never thought about it that way. I guess I was comparing my inside experience to other people’s outside appearances.”
       “Plus,” I added, “having deep, meaningful friendships is actually pretty rare. Most people have lots of acquaintances but very few people they can really be themselves with. You’ve curated something valuable.”
     “That’s true. My friends and I have been through everything together—breakups, job changes, family stuff. We show up for each other. That’s not something you get from networking events.”
       “Exactly. And you can still be open to meeting new people who might become close friends, without forcing yourself into social situations that don’t suit you.”
   She gathered her purchases with confidence. “You know what? I’m going to stop feeling guilty about loving small gatherings and deep conversations. That’s not playing it safe—that’s knowing what works for me.”
     “That sounds like wisdom to me,” I agreed.
   She left with peaceful energy, the kind of energy of someone who had given herself permission to embrace her authentic social style, The Lumineers’ celebration of genuine connection continuing to play as the doors closed behind her.
   The night deepened, and Chill n’Fill settled into that contemplative space between evening and true night. The retro gaming bear kept its mechanical watch outside, the Tetris blocks and Pac-Man ghosts creating a whimsical contrast against the serious-minded “American Gothic” couple above my register.
   Nearly two hours later, my final customer of the evening entered—a man in his early thirties who seemed to have a balanced energy of contentment but remained open to life’s possibilities. He moved through the store with unhurried purpose, selecting simple pleasure items.
   He approached the counter with herbal tea, a small journal, and a book on meditation—the purchases of someone actively working on personal growth.
       “Quiet night for reflection?” I asked, noting his thoughtful selections.
     “Something like that,” he replied with a self-aware smile. “I’ve been thinking about balance lately, and I was hoping to get some perspective from someone who deals with all kinds of people.”
   Our radio, which had been silent since the previous customer’s departure, responded to his contemplative energy by shifting to Bon Iver’s “Holocene,” its ethereal soundscape creating the perfect atmosphere for deep conversation.
       “I’ve been working on myself for the past year,” he began, paying for his items but clearly wanting to explore his thoughts aloud. “And I’m genuinely happy being single right now. Like, really content. But I also know I’d be open to something real if it came along naturally.”
     “That sounds like a healthy place to be,” I observed.
       “It is, but here’s my question: How do you stay content with where you are while still being open to connection? Like, how do you not chase but also not completely close yourself off?”
   Bon Iver’s haunting vocals seemed to capture the delicate balance he was describing—being present in solitude while remaining open to connection.
       “That’s a really good question,” I said, scanning his items. “What’s chasing look like to you?”
     “Dating apps, going to bars specifically to meet people, asking friends to set me up constantly. All the stuff I used to do when I was basically panicking about being alone.”
       “And what would closing off look like?”
     “Never going anywhere, turning down every invitation, basically hiding in my apartment. Using being happy alone as an excuse to avoid ever taking any risks.”
   There was this pause where we both seemed to be thinking. I handed him his change and he just stood there for a second, like he was working something out. I noticed he was staring at the candy display behind me.
       “Sorry, I just got distracted by that,” he said, pointing. “What the hell is ‘Booger Bites’?”
   I turned around and groaned. “Oh god, don’t get me started on our candy selection. Bob orders based on what makes him laugh, not what actually sells.”
     “So you want the middle ground,” I said, getting back to his question.
       “Exactly. Like, I want to live my life—hang out with friends, try new hobbies, whatever—but because I actually want to do those things, not because I’m hunting for a girlfriend. And if I meet someone cool while I’m doing stuff I enjoy, then great.”
     “That makes total sense,” I said. “Way better than either desperately looking or completely hiding.”
       “It’s taken me forever to figure this out though,” he admitted, opening his journal and then closing it again like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share. “I used to think being single meant I was doing something wrong, so I’d basically throw myself at anyone who seemed interested. Then I went the opposite way and convinced myself I didn’t need anyone ever, which was just as—”
       “CINDY! DID SOMEONE LEAVE A SHOPPING CART IN THE PARKING LOT? IT’S ROLLING TOWARD THE STREET!” Bob’s voice echoed from somewhere near the front window, followed by him humming what sounded like the Jeopardy theme song but completely off-key.
     “—weird,” he finished, grinning. “Your boss is really on top of things, huh?”
       “He sees everything,” I said, shaking my head. “But yeah, I don’t know if this makes sense, but it sounds like you’re trying to find that sweet spot where you’re not desperate but you’re not… closed off either?”
     “Exactly. Though I probably sound like I’m overthinking it.”
       “Well, I mean, you kind of are,” I said, then immediately realized how that sounded. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant—overthinking isn’t necessarily bad? Like, at least you’re being intentional about it instead of just randomly dating people or whatever.”
   The song’s contemplative mood seemed to honor his journey toward emotional balance.
       “So what does the middle ground look like practically?” I asked.
     “I think it’s about intention,” he said, opening his journal to show pages of neat handwriting. “I write about this stuff to stay clear on my motivations. When I go to a concert, am I going because I love the music, or because I’m hoping to meet someone? When I turn down a social invitation, is it because I genuinely need alone time, or because I’m afraid of being vulnerable?”
       “That’s beautiful self-awareness.”
     “The goal is to live so fully in my own life that if someone amazing comes along, they’re adding to something good rather than filling something missing. And if they don’t come along, I’m still living a life I love.”
   He gathered his purchases with the calm energy of someone who had found his center.
       “The weird thing is,” he added, “being genuinely content makes me more attractive to the right kind of person anyway. There’s something magnetic about someone who’s not desperately seeking external validation.”
     “That makes perfect sense,” I agreed. “Desperation repels, but contentment attracts.”
       “Exactly. So I stay open by continuing to engage with life and people, but I stay content by remembering that my happiness doesn’t depend on finding someone else.”
   As he headed toward the door, he turned back with a final thought.
       “Plus, if I’m too busy living a life I love to be constantly looking for love, the person who might be right for me is probably doing the same thing. We’ll find each other naturally, or we won’t—and either way, we’ll be okay.”
   He left with the peaceful stride of someone who had learned to trust both solitude and possibility, Bon Iver’s meditation on presence and openness continuing to play as the automatic doors closed behind him.
   Outside, our retro gaming bear continued its mechanical wink, the Tetris blocks and Pac-Man ghosts seeming to celebrate the idea that life, like the best games, was about finding the right patterns and timing. The LED lights around its mechanical eye pulsed gently in the darkness, creating a constellation of tiny possibilities.
   Inside, the stern figures in “American Gothic” kept their eternal watch, their expressions of determined wariness somehow perfect for witnessing conversations about courage, authenticity, and the delicate balance between contentment and openness.
   Three customers, three approaches to navigating solitude and connection: the courage to adventure alone, the wisdom to choose depth over breadth in relationships, and the art of being complete while remaining open. Each story a reminder that the most profound growth often happens in the space between isolation and desperation—that sweet spot where you’re content enough to choose wisely but brave enough to remain vulnerable.
   I settled back into the rhythm of my shift, restocking and cleaning while reflecting on the evening’s conversations. In a world that often pushed people toward extremes—either frantically seeking connection or defensively avoiding it—there was something beautiful about finding the middle path. About being brave enough to enjoy your own company, wise enough to choose quality relationships, and open enough to let love find you naturally when you’re living authentically.
   As I switched the overhead lights to night mode, Bob shuffled by the counter holding a half-eaten pack of “Fizzy Toenails” and what appeared to be a screwdriver.
      “You know,” he said, pausing to gesture vaguely toward the retro gaming bear outside, “sometimes you gotta play solo ’til you unlock co-op mode. And even then, make sure they don’t hog the controller.”
   He took another bite of the questionable candy and wandered off toward whatever mechanical crisis had captured his attention, leaving me to wonder if Bob’s random wisdom was actually more profound than it seemed.
   Just another night at Chill n’Fill, where a one-eyed gaming bear stood guard over the simple wisdom that the best connections often happen when you’re not desperately seeking them, and the richest life emerges when you’re brave enough to enjoy it on your own terms.
   The retro arcade sign around the bear’s neck seemed to capture it perfectly: “GAME OVER? PRESS START TO CONTINUE.” Because that’s what life really was—a series of new games, fresh starts, and opportunities to level up, whether you were playing solo or found a good co-op partner along the way.