I don't like my 7-11. It gives me a bad feeling. It sits on the corner of two busy roads and is difficult to get in and out of but I go there anyway because it is the one and only 7-11 that I pass on my way to work and I have to have coffee.

I miss my home base 7-11. That's the one in the neighborhood where I grew up. I used to go there on my bike for Slurpees when I was little and I've been getting my morning coffee there since I was 18 and I started college. They change the coffee every twenty minutes. The guys behind the counter knew me by name and I them. They also know that my sister would be there an hour after I would. They know what kind of cigarettes we both smoke and have them already on the counter when they see our cars pull up because they know our cars, too.

But I don't live there anymore so I have to settle for this crappy 7-11 that scares me a little because the parking lot is full of potholes and I am afraid I am going to break my ankle in my heels every morning. This morning though, I sort of got over myself. I had a stinging realization that left me with an unsettled pensiveness. My thoughts seem to be unfolding on each other all day after what I witnessed in this horrible 7-11 that I loathe.

I went to the coffee counter and made my fake mocha thing that I have invented to cover up the fact that the crappy 7-11 does not change the coffee every twenty minutes (1/2 hot chocolate, 1/2 Butter Toffee flavored coffee, a teeny bit of fat free half and half). I tried to ignore the people around me because I always feel as though they are staring at me. I'm sure they are not but this is the sort of uneasiness I get from the store.

I took my place on line with one man ahead of me. He was dressed in what appeared to be some sort maintenance uniform - grungy, navy blue hooded jacket, paint spattered jeans, worn out workboots and a ski cap - as though he were ready for a day of working on a roof in cold temperatures. What I found odd was that the forecast for the day called for temperatures in the mid-seventies.

Next I noticed his face. It was actually quite amusing. This man appeared to be a lawn gnome come to life. He looked weather worn and wrinkled but had a pleasant countenance nonetheless.

What struck me next came like a sting from an insect that I was not prepared for. It seems silly to be so taken aback by it now but I did a double take when I saw that what he was buying was a 24oz. can of beer. I told myself not to judge him. But I felt a sadness for him. Not pity - sadness.

Then he began to engage in mindless banter with the clerk and it became obvious to me what he was doing. By talking about something else, anything else, he was trying to draw the attention away from the fact that he was buying alcohol at 6:55 in the morning.

And there was the judgement.

Exactly what I had told myself not to do. I didn't even realize I was doing it. But because I acknowledged to myself that he was clearly trying to cover up what we could all plainly see, I judged him.

Then I looked at my own hand. A 24oz. coffee. The same size as his beer. At 6:55am, I was standing on line in 7-11 with no shame, not even a second thought, announcing to all that I NEED a drug to start my day and yet I judged this man for doing the exact same thing.

It's an argument that has many sides. Alcohol and caffeine are different in more ways than they are similar. But at the root of the equation, this man and I both went straight to 7-11 this morning to get our fix of our drug of choice so that we could begin what we consider a normal day. I don't even LIKE the 7-11 and I still do it! So which one of us has more of a problem?

I guess after I gave it some thought, I liked myself a little less. I realized I'm not as great as I like to think I am. And maybe that's a good thing. Sometimes we need to be knocked down a few pegs. And sometimes it is the most unlikely of characters that will do it to us. This man, this little lawn gnome of a person - who most people would walk by with a scoff, haughty stare or piercing comment - taught me something about myself today. He made a difference, something he probably doesn't think he's capable of. And he will never know.