Being an easy target for gas station food, I like to check to see what’s available. There’s always chicken salad, tuna salad and egg salad sandwiches, which I love, but my Mama always told to be careful eating those things if I didn’t know where they came from and who made them. They always have hot dogs rolling like logs in one of those contests where lumberjacks are trying to make each fall off and pizza that stays in a little heated case.

But I like it… I like beef jerky, pickled sausages and everything else that the gas station has to offer. On this day, they had BBQ rib sandwiches that seemed to be on a hoagie roll, judging by their shape. They also had a sticker on them that said, “Limited Time Only.”

How could I make the decision not to get the BBQ rib sandwich? It might not be there tomorrow and I would have gone through life not taking advantage of their limited time offer. I could feel the sauce oozing out of the sides of the wrapping as I took it up to the counter.

Things are not always what they seem.

As a matter of fact, many things in this life are not what they seem or more specifically not named appropriately.

Specifically things like fireflies, prairie dogs and horned toads. Did you know that a firefly was actually not a fly, but a beetle? And a prairie dog is not a dog, but a rodent. A horned toad is not a toad - it is a lizard.

We could go on and on. Peanuts are not nuts, but legumes (think beans). English horns are not actually English, nor horns, but a French alto oboe. Funny bones are not bones, shooting stars are not stars, bald eagles are not bald and sweetbread is not bread. Trust me on that last one.

You know where I’m going with all this. Gas station food is pretty much parking lot food that you take back to the car and eat before you leave the parking lot or drive while eating it and getting it all over whatever you are wearing and the car.

In addition to my BBQ rib sandwich, I got a bag of potato chips and a bottle of cheap water. I knew not to expect too much. It was from the gas station and it’s not like they have a short order cook in the back or a big smoker outside where they are making these BBQ rib sandwiches. Somebody driving a truck drops them off each morning, or maybe every other day, I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question.

Needless to say, my BBQ rib sandwich was not a real rib sandwich, but rather some sort of pressed together meat (possibly pork) that was slathered in BBQ sauce. I’m not real sure what to compare it to, it probably needs a new classification. It would remind you of the fake rib sandwiches that some of the hamburger chains push every so often, but not as good as those.

Of course I ate it. I started eating it while in the parking lot and then made the stupid decision to try to finish it on the way back to work. I guess we are what we eat, or wear, in my case, I was wearing BBQ sauce on my shirt.

I will leave you with this, a jackrabbit is not a rabbit, but a hare, and just because it has BBQ sauce on it, does not necessarily mean anything. Anything, other than, I would probably eat it.

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