Angrily throwing the squeegee into the bone-dry washer bin, I paid for my half tank of gas and peeled out of the Circle K forever, driving to the QuikTrip a mile down the road.
True conversion experiences are rare, but mine was as authentic as they come: I am now a disciple, an apostle, of QuikTrip.
Baptizing the ostensibly secular is an old habit of mine - I routinely cross myself when passing by the Calvin and Hobbes collection in bookstores - but I feel especially justified in calling the convenience store sacred ground.
QuikTrip does everything right, and in doing so, transcends the world of gasoline and beer to create a religious experience.
Tired of plain ol' Pepsi? Try mixing in strawberry slush or vanilla.
Coffee just not cutting it? Add shots of butter pecan, amaretto or Irish cream. Desiccated Valley dwellers, rejoice.
And to top it off, cups are capped not by the cheap lids of McDonald's or KFC, but with stable, thick plastic tops.
A German architect once said, "God is in the details."
It is QuikTrip's details - its thoughtful considerations of the customer, employee and the environment that demonstrate its underlying quality.
Its foods are - amazing for a convenience store - actually pleasurable to eat. QuikTrip's hot dogs come with a half dozen types of mustard; its taquitos are hot and beefy.
The store even offers the city's best selection of frozen pizzas, including some brands not otherwise obtainable in the Southwest.
Robert Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" goes a long way to explain QuikTrip's philosophical genius.
In his influential book, Pirsig lays out a conception of the universe centered on "quality." Quality is not, he argues, something that exists only in the minds of humans. Rather, it underpins all of reality, and is brought to the surface through careful craftsmanship.
This worldview explains why professionally designed, mass-produced toys rarely become anything more than trinkets, while artless stone windmills are beautiful.
The company pays an unusually high hourly wage for the convenience-store industry (an average of $7.75, $2.50 over the federal minimum).
It guarantees time off for special events (graduations, proms, etc.) and has set up a system to approve 94 percent of all requests for leave time.
It was also one of the first gas retailers to exceed the Environmental Protection Agency's standards for gasoline additives.
All this has not escaped the attention of the business world.
QuikTrip has been ranked in Forbes' "100 Best Companies to Work For" for three years running, beating out such high-end businesses as Microsoft and Starbucks.
More telling than any official recognition, though, is QuikTrip's social atmosphere.
A menagerie of people frequent the stores: leather-clad bikers, tie-clad businessmen, surly teenagers and the occasional prostitute. People even treat each other with civility.
Incredibly, whenever I visit a QuikTrip, a stranger holds open the door for me. This social grace might be familiar to the attractive or elderly, but it's quite unknown to a young male adult with facial hair, like me.
QuikTrip's effect on people proves its quality.
The devotion to culinary excellence, social welfare and environmental responsibility is what keeps me coming back to QuikTrip when I'm struggling through a depressing evening.
Let me raise a glass - a 64-ounce cup of root beer, orange slush and frozen steamer - to the consummate wonder that is QuikTrip. May its quality never decrease and may its window-washer bins overfloweth.
Brandon Hendrickson is a graduate of history and religious studies, and has recently heard rumor of a QuikTrip Monte Cristo sandwich. E-mail him with your drink recipes at: Brandon.Hendrickson@asu.edu., or run into him at the 52nd Street and University Drive QuikTrip any dreary evening.
