When I first moved to Boston, I lived downtown in what is now luxury lofts, but at the time, was a student residence. I didn't move around a lot in those years, because I had it all. I didn't need a grocery store, mall or even the campus cafeteria.
I figured out my heart and soul belonged to 7-Eleven.
It was always open when I needed it most.
It had it all. There was egg salad sandwiches, fresh fruit and most importantly Orangina. On the way there, I'd grab a slice of dumpster pizza and my late night munchies would be sated.
But my love affair with the convenience store started long before I moved to Boston. The closest gas station to our house in small town Texas was a 7-Eleven, so in I would go, tagging along with my mom to convince her that I couldn't live without Yodels, Baked Lays or a Slurpee.
Eventually, my mom smarted up and she sent me in to pay for the gas, pick up a drink or snack and on my 18th birthday, I recall buying my grandmother a lottery ticket.
I was carded.
Oh thank heaven for 7-Eleven. Honestly, it was a lot like heaven to me. This store represented all of the things that I was denied at home, so a trip to 7-Eleven represented a special treat in my mind. It was like the toy store, but instead of Barbies, my booty was a sinfully delicious caloric intake in the form of something slightly edible.
I even saw the very first issue of NYLON magazine there in one of the stands. I was hypnotized by Liv Tyler's sparkly lips, but of course, I was denied. I guess it all comes full circle.
Sometimes you miss out on a magazine or your bread is moldy. It's all a gamble, but 7 is usually my lucky number.