Bryants Express

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At Bryant’s Express, every morning begins with the same routine: trucks pull in, pumps hum, and cars line up for gas. But one day, a little boy pointed at the pump and whispered, ‘Dad, why does that gas pump blink red when no one is filling up?’ The dad shrugged, then squinted at the pump. 'Son,' he said, tapping his chin, 'that's not just any old pump—it's our secret time-traveling machine!' The boy giggled, and together they watched as the numbers blinked faster and slower, until finally, the pump chimed like an old-fashioned cash register. A delivery driver looked over curiously and asked, “What are you two doing?” Dad replied, smiling, “Just checking if today’s the right day for our weekly trip to 1985.”

2. At Bryant's Express, every morning begins with the same routine: trucks pull in, pumps hum, and diesel fumes fill the air. But lately, one regular noticed something strange—every time he filled up, the radio played exactly the same song, over and over again. One day, a regular asked the attendant if they could change the song. The attendant shrugged and nodded, but when the man returned later that week, the same tune blasted from the speakers once more. Finally, fed up, he confronted the owner. ‘Why does my gas always play the same old country ballad?’ The owner smiled and replied, ‘That’s not our playlist—it’s your favorite!’

3. At Bryant’s Express, every morning begins with the same routine: trucks pull in, pumps hum, and gas flows like clockwork. But one day, a delivery driver exclaimed, ‘Boss, you won’t believe what just happened!’ ‘Last night,’ he said, ‘I saw an old man drive up on a unicycle!’ Bryant shook his head, smiling. ‘Probably our new neighbor trying to impress us again.’

4. At Bryant’s Express, every morning begins with the same routine: trucks pull in, pumps hum, and customers grab their coffee. But one day, an old man parked his truck next to the gas station, got out, and started rummaging through his toolbox. When he finished, he walked over to the nearby trash bin—only to emerge holding a tiny, perfectly preserved snowman made of ice. A regular passing by asked curiously what it was, and the old man smiled, replying, ‘Just something I keep for luck.’ From then on, whenever someone asked about the little snowman, everyone at Bryant’s would just shrug and say, ‘Oh, that? It brings us good fortune!’