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Call me Col. Mustard...


So there I am cruising back from a sales meeting in PA. My lunch plans with Pete failed, so I am on my own. I notice I need more gas so I cruise into the Walt Whitman rest area on the Turnpike...

I pick up some super healthy burger and head to the free fixins bar, cause you know it is all about the free fixins bar. (side note, back in my first year of college, I ended up, um, meeting this girl from New Orleans who said, "fixxin" all the time, which always made me think of Roy Rogers free fixins bar and giggle; she didn't talk to me after that night...). So I pump on some ketchup and I think Mustard, yellow, gets everwhere, but hey I live for the day.

So I pump (gingerly mind you) and splAAAAAt it shoots out at a 90 degree angle and covers the left half of the shirt I am wearing. I am not even sure this yellow solid-liquid mess follows the rules of physics... It was cold too. I looked like a total pro. I tried to wipe it off, but the thing with mustard is it just won't go away (I suspect it stays in your stomach for eons). My snazzy "this-will-impress-the-customer" shirt is now half yellow instead of blue and white.

Great. So I hit full serve on the gas so I wouldn't have to get out of the car...

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