If you haven’t been to Buc-ee’s before, I’m not sure I can describe it adequately, but I must try. Originally a gas station specializing in extraordinarily clean bathrooms (think: cleaned after each use), Buc-ee’s has expanded into a combination road trip destination, gift shop, grocery store, and pilgrimage site in the church of American consumerism. It’s like Wall Drug and Walmart had a baby and that baby was staffed by what the narrative claims Chick-Fil-A employees are, except instead of being drilled to communicate how pleasurable they find it to serve you, they’re drilled to keep those toilets shinier than Queen Elizabeth’s diamonds. You can buy a thousand-dollar smoker at Buc-ee’s. You can also get a tank of gas, a good hot ham sandwich, homemade banana pudding, and a t-shirt so tacky it could make a Cracker Barrel blush.
If you stop by a Buc-ee’s on I-35, the road that connects Laredo to Duluth by way of San Antonio, Austin, Dallas-Ft. Worth (both, it splits into two separate but equal I-35’s), Oklahoma City, and a bunch of other cities that have nothing to do with Texas (which is where Buc-ee’s started and is still primarily located), and you stop by it on a weekend, you are risking your life. Not because of crime—nobody would dare commit a crime at a place as full of wonder as Buc-ee’s—but because of the potential of a stampede. I know this. I’ve been to Buc-ee’s before. And yet two weeks ago, on a Saturday in May, I decided to stop there anyway.
This being late springtime, and me being in the Dallas-Ft. Worth Metroplex™, the place was full of youth travel baseball teams, most visibly one from Keller with black jerseys and players with phenomenal hair (again, we were in the DFW and these were youth baseball players, these guys are going to be starting for the Padres in eleven years and half of them will have played in the College World Series), but that was far from the only beyond-even-a-normal-Saturday happening. There was an issue with the chip readers provoking existential crises in more than a few customers. It was sunny. People were moving home from various colleges, and embarking on various family vacations. It was mid-afternoon, so everyone was in the mood for a Coke.
I wasn’t sure I could describe Buc-ee’s adequately, but I’m sure I can’t describe the horde of humanity seen that day with any sort of justice. I parked way back behind the building, next to the signs explaining that drone surveillance was making sure everyone picked up their dog’s poop (the clean-bathroom thing isn’t just for humans), and I was still door-to-door with throngs upon throngs. Not needing much, it was mostly entertaining to watch the masses. I was having a good time.
Then, the sample guy came out.
Have you ever seen a video of raw meat being dropped into a piranha tank?
