It was an affront to common hospitality, the fact that I couldn't get a fresh drink along the Southern Tier on Friday afternoon.

Our traditional stops: Horseheads, Painted Post, boarded up and vacant. Near ghost towns. What is the NYS DOT thinking?! Turning Route 17 into an interstate? The old movie line in, say, Psycho that they moved away the highway is too true in places like Corning.

I don't exactly remember where we found an up-and-running gas station, maybe it was Riverside Village. I ducked inside a quickie mart there for a drink and snacks, finding only expired products. Pretzel sticks from February.

I asked the store clerk for something fresh. His accent was heavy, and my ears were ringing from the road and the kids' screaming. I don't hear very well, so I kept pestering him in my pushy, Jersey way, "Huh? Huh?!" He was able to show me the cooler with the fresh sodas.

We received the outdoor restroom key from him and I had my eldest son return it when we were finished. I thought the experience would be good for him but I hung around to make sure that he managed it alright.

Kenny ducked into the store with the key in hand but was unable to see the clerk.

He turned to me, raising his hands palms up in a questioning gesture. I saw the clerk behind the counter, so I motioned to Kenny to set the key on the counter.

Kenny turned again towards the counter just as the man slumped over and down to the floor. For a second time, Kenny failed to see him. Then I realized what was going on.

I dashed inside the store to help Kenny place the key prominently on the counter and took him away, explaining that the man was saying his prayers. Kenny didn't understand because the man wasn't in church. ("There's a time and a place ...")

After interacting with me and my impatience, the clerk needed to say his prayers to regain his even keel. No, actually, it's quite common in all parts of New York State.

We came home via the Thruway. Route 17 just ain't quaint no more.