When Did Candy Bars Become Three Bucks at Oklahoma Gas Stations

I was on the road all across the Sooner State over the holidays, doing the regular stretch of seeing family and visiting old friends, when a shock set in. It hit me at a gas stop along I-44 on my way home. You know the routine. Fill up, hit a bathroom break, and grab a snack because I left grandmas halfway between lunch and dinner.

Since my stomach was speaking louder than my brain, I opted for the only thing Love's had hot and what they called fresh at the moment. Two roller-grill hot dogs that had probably been cooking for a few hours.

Before you roll your eyes, study after study has proven that roller grills are probably the most food-safe surfaces in your average gas station... shut it.

I grabbed a bottle of coke and hit the registers, and that’s when it hit me. How is $4 worth of a road snack costing me nearly nine bucks?

We Really Do Become Our Parents One Day

As a seasoned highway traveler, I know the one place you don't want to choke is while you're driving alone, so I walked around the store eating my dogs and having some sips. In the same way we used to read shampoo bottles in our private time of boredom, I started looking around the racks.

How did a regular candy bar become three dollars?

This wasn't king-size candy. Not some fancy limited edition with sea salt and vibes. Just a normal, everyday candy bar. Three bucks. Plus tax. Meanwhile, I’m standing there doing mental math like it’s 2003.

I Am. I'm Going To Say The Thing

Back in my day, well within the current century, a candy bar was 69 cents. Seventy-five with tax. King-size candies were 99 cents and felt like a commitment. A bottle of pop was a buck and a quarter, and fountain drinks were basically free if you knew how to sweet-talk the cute cashier or had a gas receipt from five minutes ago.

Now?

Three dollars for chocolate. Four if it’s wrapped in nostalgia or labeled king-size, but we all know shrinkflation means king-size is yesteryears regular... Looking at you TWIX. Fountain drinks cost as much as your grab-and-go lunch used to. Chips are priced like luxury items. And every gas station snack aisle now feels like a bad financial decision.

I get it. Inflation. Shipping. Labor. Everything costs more. But somewhere along the way, gas stations stopped being convenient and started acting like boutique retailers who just happen to sell diesel.

The Captive Audience

What really messes with your head is the psychology. You’re already traveling. You’re already tired. You’re already standing there. So you pay it. Because what are you gonna do, drive another thirty miles just to prove a point, all the while the prices are going to be identical anyway?

And that’s how we got here.

Gas stations didn’t raise prices overnight. They crept. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day you’re holding a candy bar, staring at the price tag, and wondering how drinks and snacks for you and two nephews is suddenly $40.

I still buy it, every time. That last gas stop on the way home is me, tired, going through the motions on the journey to get where I'm going. A last-ditch chance to stretch the legs one more time. Something to break up the never-ending white stripes of the turnpike.

I am become my father.