Things to do in Denver When You're Horrendous

So I just got settled in at my quaint little room at a Days Inn just outside of Denver, CO. I don't remember if I even mentioned it in previous posts, but I'm going to Nantucket for a month or so to chill with family, but will be back in Vegas sometime in the Fall. I'm driving out (unfortunately alone this time), and just arrived in Denver after a pretty grueling 11 hour caffeine and beef jerky fueled session. Although some of the scenery was incredible, the day was painfully boring overall.
The only moment of any interest happened at an Arby's somewhere in Utah, where I was picking up the first of what would be a long line of lifespan-shortening meals for the day. Let me preface this by saying I've seen my fair share of pathetic people in my day. I've been to West Virginia, Kentucky, Arkansas...hell, I grew up in fucking New Jersey, so let's just say I'm no stranger to lower life forms. However, the scene I walked into far surpassed anything I could have imagined in terms of sheer atrociousness. Picture the Cantina scene in the first Star Wars, only the characters involved have half as many teeth. Anyway, as soon as I walk in, I recognize what a crucial lack of judgment I've shown by entering the state of Utah, and realize how slim my chances are of leaving the scene alive or without being violated in some way. However, my desire for something fried and/or covered in a horseradish cream sauce overpowered my fears, and I treaded further into the abyss, keeping my head down to avoid direct eye contact with the undead.
I quietly found a spot in line behind a surprisingly normal looking older fellow, and he gave me a cordial nod. I quickly determined that he would be my most likely ally if the cretins decided to band together and attack, and if all else failed, he would serve as an adequate human shield. I quickly scanned the menu, settled on a delicious looking chicken dish, and patiently awaited my turn to order.
While in line, I took note of some of the more interesting characters in the establishment. The first to catch my eye was a tall, burly specimen who was browsing through the various offerings in the beef jerky aisle - a quick aside - I failed to mention that this Arby's was part of a rest stop fully equipped with snacks, NASCAR paraphenalia, bizarre videos (I hadn't realized just how many films Steven Segal had released), and tobacco products of all kinds. Needless to say, the jerky aisle was massive (I was admiring it myself), so it was understandable that a discerning customer would need a fair amount of time to make the proper selection. What was not understandable, was this particular customer's attire. He was dressed in what I imagine is standard Utah garb - flannel shirt, blue sweat pants, trucker hat, and...socks. No shoes, just socks. I tried to work backwards from this moment and piece together what daily events would lead him to be browsing jerky in his socks in a rest stop on the side of a major highway, but I was interrupted by a quick yelp from the hot dog area...
I'm sure you're all familiar with those little glassed-in contraptions that display hot dogs in convenience stores. The dogs sit on heated metal cylinders and just slowly spin there until their temperature approaches that of the surface of the sun. In front of this particular machine was a customer shaking his hand in pain with a lowly hot dog rolling around at his feet. Evidently, he decided to just reach into the machine and grab his meaty treat...with his bare hand. Most wouldn't consider handling a rest stop hot dog without a radiation suit, but to just go for the gold with your bare hand??? I tip my hat to you, sir. Anyway, as he nudged the sorry little dog toward the trash can with his foot (a fully shoed foot, might i add), my turn to order came up.
I weaved my way through a floor full of discarded Arby's food and unsupervised children, and approached the counter, which was being manned by a cashier who appeared to be disappointingly normal. Well, as normal as any teenage Arby's cashier can possibly look. We had an uneventful exchange and I collected my meal, but just as I was turning to leave, I could see fear in his eyes and he silently mouthed the words "Please...take me with you" Although I had to leave him to fend for himself amongst the savages, I've made a vow to one day go back to Utah and save that poor motherfucker from his atrocious fate...
Oh, but yea the chicken was delicious.