As a college commuter, I have to make a stop every single morning. It never fails. As a full-blown energy drink addict, I couldn't make it through my commute without a blueberry Redbull. Living in a small town, and driving through two smaller towns before I get to campus, it is hard to find anywhere to make a quick stop that 1) has any available parking spots, 2) won't charge an arm, leg, and kidney for a bottle of water, and 3) the rarest - decent customer service.

I am the farthest from a morning person. I typically run on less than four hours of sleep, so I'm always slightly bitter before lunch. So, my commute is normally filled with heavy metal music and lots of road rage. But, that all changed two weeks ago.

I flipped between the convenience stores I stopped at to buy my usual Redbull and lemon water. I started noticing that the customer service at all of the easily accessible ones was terrible. I didn't need any more negativity to ruin my already stressful days, but where else would I go?

I was running low on gas (okay, maybe the gas light was on for an entire day because I was just too lazy to stop, the same thing), so I stopped at what natives to my small town call The Lucky Spot. While the actual name of the store is unknown to most (including me), this little store obtained this nickname when the lottery-for-education began in Georgia. EVERYONE would buy their scratch-offs and Fantasy Five numbers here. Anyone would tell you that this is the place to go if you have that feeling that you're going to hit it big. It is almost like Governor Deal personally delivers the big winners to this little run-down store. The establishment is always full of quirky characters. There are the daily visitors - the ones I call the desperate - they park their jalopies and blow their paychecks on lotto tickets every day that they have the change to do so. Then there are the hopefuls - regular visitors that spend a considerably large amount of bucks on their tickets but do so more responsibly than the desperate. Then there are the stragglers - these folks are the same as me, just stopping for a snack, a pack of smokes, or a cold drink for lunch. On top of the lotto-obsessed people that grind my gears, this place has been robbed twice in my lifetime (for a small town, that's huge), so I stay away.

This morning in particular, however, I had no choice. I could either stop there or run out of gas two miles away. So I stopped.

The people that own and run the place had their son sitting at the checkout counter finishing up on some homework before they took him to school. They were both helping him subtract fractions, something I still struggle doing despite my 4.0 GPA. I grabbed my things, paid, and left. Not so bad.

I stopped on my next commute, two days later. I stopped again and again until it became a habit. The people started to know me by name, vehicle, average time I'd show up, and what I bought. Some mornings my usual energy drink and water would be sitting on the counter when I walked in.

I was happy to find somewhere to stop that didn't ruin my mornings. But, I didn't know that there would be a conversation in that tiny store that would change my life.

On this specific Friday, two weeks ago, I was running approximately 45 minutes late. I hadn't slept the night before, and I was drowning in homework. This was the most stressful day of the semester so far. I ran in my usual stop to grab my things, and the guy asked a question that I wasn't expecting.

He asked, "You must be going to the college, right?" referring to the small, 2-year college that was in walking distance from the store.

I explained that I was actually going to Georgia Southern, nearly an hour away. He asked my major, and when I told him that I was majoring in Communication Studies, he lit up.

His speech went like this: "That's the future, man. With all that's going on in the world, we need these younger kids to mediate. Nobody can get along. Even though most of us have the same viewpoint, we bicker over the smallest details and lose the big picture. Most young kids go after the quick money - the military, factory jobs, nursing, etc. While those jobs are crucial to our society, we need the middle-men. People that don't follow the norms and the pressures of society, and don't chase dollar signs while forgetting their dreams, are the ones who make the world different."

I was taken back. This guy that I had barely heard speak before just gave me the biggest pep-talk I've had in a while on a day that I needed it more than I knew.

I shook my head and said, "Most people don't have it in them. They do what they know, and that's it. I'll take a pay-cut to be able to make a change."

He went on to tell me that people need to be there to support the masses. When someone works a 40 hour week, it's hard to get the true news and develop an opinion on it. With all the hatred in the world and the ineffable events that are caused by said hatred, someone needs to be able to break down the truth to those who aren't glued to their TV's all day. He capped off his message by saying, "Those who make changes need people to back them. I can't back anyone right now because everyone is so confusing that I feel like they're all lying to me."

When I left, I realized he was right. It is my mission to be that middle-man. I want to make the world make sense. Although that will never be entirely possible, I feel like I could cover a lot of ground during my years here. Knowing that the general population feels the same way I do is great because I will have the support I need.

The moral of this story is: Don't fall in line, step outside the box. Do what makes you feel accomplished. Do what you need to do to make this world work for you because you have supporters everywhere - some that you don't even know exist.