Maverik: It’s become an icon in Utah’s convenient store scene, a must stop for someone looking to fuel up—with premium unleaded or caffeine—or relieve oneself without feeling like you need to immediately bathe in rubbing alcohol. 

But it hasn’t always been that way. I’m old enough to remember when Maverik was the Cleveland Browns of gas stations, with rumors abound of watered-down gasoline. 

The exterior aesthetic wasn’t any better. Maverick Country Stores, as they were called back then, looked like run-down cottages. Constructed with cinderblocks—reminiscent of my childhood Sunday school classroom—they were painted a light beige to ensure they couldn’t look any dirtier. 

The stores’ interiors somehow managed to fall short of low expectations: they looked like the scene of an accident where a Willy Wonka truck and Coca Cola truck collided. The walls were decorated with post-modern art—a euphemism for spilled soda stains. Even the manager of a small town dollar movie theater thought their floors were too sticky. 

That was then. This is now. 

It seems they have been saving the missing “c” in “maverick” all along to one day use it to class up the place.

Maverik has undertaken a makeover worthy of its own HGTV series. It has abandoned the abandoned building look in favor of a retrofitted ski lodge theme replete with timber beams supporting a grandiose A-frame entrance. 

The image overhaul doesn’t end at the front door.  The interior walls are adorned with murals of people participating in extreme sports like skiing, kayaking and rock climbing. 

And Maverik’s market share has also seen a significant boost. All you have to do is stop at any of the infinite Maveriks across the Beehive State. Their parking lots look like a game day tailgating lot in the Big 10 Conference. By contrast, the competition across the street looks like a haunted house parking lot on November 1st. 

Maverik, they now say, is “Adventure’s First Stop”, playing off the extreme sport images in every direction. I always feel like I owe the clerk an explanation. 

“If I am going to rock climb to my favorite ski run I’m going to need every bit of nourishment this Snickers, hot dog, bag of potato chips, pack of Marlboro reds, Cinnabon and 64 ounce Coke can muster. Besides, I like to have a few things to snack on while I kayak back home.” 

I just hope my cover isn’t blown when he or she notices I’m winded from carrying all those calories to the check out counter. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is Maverik is peddling a lot more than premium unleaded. They are selling hope, and I’m not just talking about a 12-pack of Budweiser. 

Somewhere in Maverik’s renaissance-like revival lies a metaphor. We don’t have to settle for our lives’ current trajectory. We can invest in our brand. We can improve our productivity. We are capable of enhancing our lives. And the best part is nobody has more say in our destiny than we do. 

We will never reach perfection. Neither has Maverik—they still don’t have a drive-through. 

But just like the Sharpie-drawn, vulgar images on the bathroom stall of yesteryear can be removed, we can rid ourselves of bad habits, unhealthy biases, or simply commit to being more friendly.   

Or, maybe, the takeaway is that Maverik has simply created a nice atmosphere in which to purchase our bad habit of choice—and that’s all that really matters. 

It’s really tough to say.