[dropcap]O[/dropcap]utside Robertsdale, Alabama is a highway market with the best boiled peanuts you’ve ever tasted. Cajun style. I first tried them several years ago, on one of the worst weeks of my life

Let me back up. At the time, I worked as a delivery van driver. My supervisor was a hateful snot who ironed his jeans, named Roger.

Roger informed me he was decreasing my pay, the company had fallen on hard times. But it gets worse. The following Wednesday my cocker spaniel died. I woke up to find her curled up at the foot of my bed.

The lowest blow came on Friday. While making deliveries in the eastern tip of of Alabama, the transmission on my delivery van died.

The vehicle broke down just outside Robertsdale. I coasted into the little roadside market and called Roger on the company cellphone. I explained what happened, and he cussed me out for missing my deliveries.

Then Roger up and fired me, right there. Over the phone.

I fell into a state of shock. I wandered into the market and loaded up two bagfuls of boiled peanuts. The woman behind the counter gave me one of those looks.

“You okay sweetie?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “You ever feel like the world is against you, like nobody cares?”

Then, I choked on my words and started crying.

Without saying a thing, she came around the counter and pulled me into herself. We stood there for five minutes. Two perfect strangers. She smelled like cheap perfume.

“Well, I care,” she said.

She must’ve been telling the truth.

Because didn’t charge me for the peanuts.