Just when I was at my lowest, hating life and Keystone state, an amazing string of events unfolded before me at a Sheetz gas station in Bloomsburg, Pa. that changed my opinion of this town forever.

I’ve been on a business trip to Bloomsburg for the past couple weeks and I haven’t had the best time. I’ve been pretty down on the place — people can’t drive, I’ve seen a better restaurant selection in Central American villages and the job site has been difficult. To top it all off, I ended up having to stay a couple extra days to tie up some loose ends. Suffice it to say, I was hating this place pretty bad.

Then, as if God knew how miserable I was, he sent a guy who looked like the Iron Sheik and a one-legged redneck on duct-tape covered crutches to cheer me up.

The Iron Sheik

There I was, waiting to pay for my sandwich and Monster Energy Drink — I’ve been working 16-hour days trying to help get the paper out and Sheetz is the closest place offering sustenance — when two men rudely cut in front of me to pay for their gas.

Usually I’m not afraid to say anything when queue protocol is broken. I especially get annoyed and vocal when people jump the line at the self-check out at Wal-Mart. But this time was different. First, I am walking through life in a zombie-like state from the above-mentioned 16-hour days. Second, the two guys who cut in front of me were a 6’4″ Iranian, built like a brick shithouse topped with an glorious handlebar mustache. The other guy was one of the greasiest, dirtiest, smelliest rednecks I’d ever seen. Draped in a torn flannel shirt unbuttoned to his naval and blue jeans covered in either white paint or drywall spackle, he was missing his right leg and hobbled in on dingy, wooden crutches repaired in all sorts of places with mounds of duct tape.

The Iranian guy paid for his gas first and it seems, told the cashier the wrong pump. The redneck, who had slapped down a five, eight ones and a handful of change to pay for his gas, quickly got angry when the cashier tried to make him pay for the Iranian guy’s gas. Obviously, he was on a budget.

So the two men began arguing, each insisting they had used pump 13 and it quickly escalated. When the Iron Sheik finally relented and pulled out a wad of money to cover the difference when the monopod redneck lost it. He swung his right crutch around and hit the Iron Sheik with it. The Sheik, obviously surprised, shoved the man back into the counter.

As quickly as he fell back, the redneck bounced back and began swinging his tiny, carnie hands like dirty, flannel windmills and landed a couple blows on the Sheik’s chest.

“I don’t want to fight you,” the Sheik barked with this thick, Persian accent. In one hand, he still held the wad of money. With the other, he was doing his best to block the soot-covered fists of fury. Finally, after a few seconds of this, the Sheik looked down and with one quick sweep of the leg, ended the fight.

The redneck fell into a heap like a dirty laundry pile on a teenager’s bedroom floor. The Sheik asked the cashier how much he owed for the gas, slapped down his money and stomped out the door. As quickly as it started, the fight between the Iron Sheik and the one-legged redneck was over. [SlideDeck id='1416' width='100%' height='370px']