Small Towns

Last weekend I made a last minute decision to head over to Mission on Saturday night. I didn't eat dinner before leaving, and then between the hour-long drive and the switch to central time, I found myself pulling into town around 9:30 with most available eateries already closed. I decided to head over to the gas station to get some lovely fried foods. When I hopped out of my car I paused for a second; something didn't feel right. Then I realized I didn't have my keys. I was hoping I hadn't locked my car, but when I turned around to check, I realized that not only had I locked it, but the engine was still running and the lights were on. Whoops.

I went inside the gas station and asked the cashier if she had anything that I could use to jimmy my way into the car. She came up with a coat hanger, so I went back outside and worked at that for a while. I'm pretty inexperienced with stealing cars, so I didn't make much progress. It was also 45 degrees out and the wind was ripping right through my 3 layers of winter clothing. One guy stopped by and suggested that I have the gas station call the Mission police, since they should have a "Sneaky Pete." So I went in, but the cashier said that the police would just make me call Junior or Slim or someone with a name like that, who would charge me a lot. So I went back out for a while to work with my coat hanger without much progress. The cold eventually drove me back inside, and I had the cashier call the police.

The first surprise was when the cashier identified herself by first name. She talked for a couple minutes and then reported back to me that both of the police station's Sneaky Petes had been stolen (seems problematic), but that Kenny over in Rosebud would be able to open my car for me. Then she handed me the phone and gave me the phone number to dial. The phone rang a couple times, I asked to talk to Kenny, and then I explained that I had locked myself out of my car at the Gus Stop. He said he would need forty bucks to open it for me, and I said fine.

I had to wait about 25 minutes for Kenny to make the drive over from Rosebud. In the meantime, one of the gas station attendant's husbands came by, and very helpfully tried to wedge a piece of wod he found into my window so he could get the door unlocked. I probably should've been stressed out, it kind of put me in a good mood to laugh at myself, and everyone was being really nice; four or five people walked by, offering various helpful comments or spots in the warmth of their cars. I was only nervous about one thing: after getting off the phone, I counted up the cash in my wallet and discovered I only had $37, and the ATM was out. When Kenny arrived I offered to buy him something from inside, but he was happy with just the $37. It took a couple tries, but he got me into my car pretty quickly, and then I was on my way.

I felt like I learned something, though--and not only not to be an idiot next time I am driving. It struck me in a new way how small this community is. I'm aware of how empty the land is, how far apart these towns are. But everyone I meet is a stanger, nameless to me, and it's easy to assume that I am just as anonymous, another passing face who won't be remembered. But this is a place where they can call the police and identify themselves by first name, or be known across the res as the late-arriving entrepreneur who profits off of fools like me. Anonymity may be hard to come by.