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Changes.
While often times the most offensive thing is the funniest, it’s been brought to my attention that I should probably tone down the content of my blog a bit. It’s hard to do so, given my nature, but I want to touch base on a few points to clear the air around here (who farted?).
First off, while my job isn’t glamorous, it gives me something I haven’t had in a while:Cash. It is giving me an opportunity to get somewhere, and while it isn’t where I thought I’d be at 23 when I was 18, here I am. You play the hand you are dealt, and you do the best you can.
Secondly, I used a derogatory term that probably falsely depicted the customers that shop at the station I work for. While there are some interesting characters, they are not all terrible. In fact, I’d say 90% of the people that shop there are normal people, and even the other 10% still pay money to my place of employment, and that pays my salary. For that, I am very thankful.
Finally, I just want people to know that this blog is just for entertainment. While all the stories are true, I truly enjoy my job, most of the time. Please keep in mind while you enjoy reading this all the points that I have covered.
I’d also like to say that if you have any questions, or if you’d like to have something published on here, click the ‘shoot’ button to the left, and hit me up.
-Justin
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Letter from Coach Rich
*EDIT* This is a letter from a man I know as ‘Coach’, he is a great guy and I am glad he also worked at a gas station when he was my age. Thanks Coach!
Been there, done that Justin. Working at a gas station is a sure fire way of insuring you will get to deal with the drunks. Myself, I worked at a gas station for over two years when I was your age. Now I’m the drunk on the other side of the counter. However, I always try to be nice to the people working there as I know exactly what they go through every day.
It always amazed me how otherwise intelligent people seem to leave their brian in their car when entering a gas station. ”How much is this windshield washer fluid?” they would ask when standing next to a giant sign reading “Windshield Washer Fluid: $2.99”. It always amazed me how many customers would read the sign on the door “No Public Restroom” and then ask “Really, you don’t have a bathroom?” ”Of course we do sir, we just put that sign up to weed out the assholes.” On a couple of occasions where I lost my patience with customers who were insisting on using a bathroom with the “Oh yeah, well where do you use the bathroom?” I replied “In the coffee!”.
Working in a gas station can be a real pain in the ass. Just like Randal said “This job wouldn’t so so bad if it wasn’t for customers.” I’m glad you’ve already figured out that carding people is the best way to fuck with people who annoy you. If people looked or acted like a dick, I’d card them. It always pissed them off because they knew exactly what I was doing. And from the company’s perspective, I was doing exactly what they were paying me to do so they always backed me. We also sold beer. In Ohio, the law stated that alcohol retailers had the right to refuse an alcohol sale for any reason. Of course, the company I worked for had their own protocol and acceptable reasons. But I could refuse to sell beer to anyone I wanted by simply telling my boss I thought they were drunk. We didn’t have audio recordings back then. I remember refusing a beer sale to one guy who regularly got on my nerves. He asked why I wouldn’t sell him the beer and I said “Because you look like an asshole!” When he called in to complain to my manager the next day, I was covered. When asked about it, “Mike, the only people I refused sales to last night were a couple of people without IDs and one guy who seemed drunk to me.” I was not only covered, but was told I did a good job. On a couple other occasions, I refused alcohol sales telling the offending asshole that his ID looked fake to me. Again, I was covered.
Your job sucks! You have to find ways to have fun with it or you’ll go crazy.
I think the worst was the Jesus freaks from down the street. There was this mega church called World Harvest down the road. It is a huge evangelical church which has cable and satellite broadcasts all over the world. You know the types, after recently getting “born again”, speaking in tongues, and going into convulsions in the isle way, they were on a hunt to save fresh souls for Jesus. And there was me or my coworkers stuck behind the counter with no place to escape to. We made these buttons to wear that had the word “saving” written on it with the universal red circle and slash through it to wear whenever there were services or during revival weeks.
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The Gas Station Blues.
My name is Justin, and I work at an undisclosed gas station in northern Arkansas. The economy is in turmoil, every where you look there is unemployment, poverty, and the general need for something more in our society. Here, at this little place I call ‘home’, it is no different. Upon receiving employment at said gas station, I couldn’t have been happier. However, everything, including gas station jobs, come at a price. Mine is dealing with some of the trashiest and worst humans every day.
I created this blog to share with you some of my eye witness accounts of some of the bizarre, some of the disgusting, some of the absolutely unbelievable, so that one day, hopefully, my stories will be heard somewhere else, and my time slinging cigarettes, gasoline, and lotto tickets will be remembered.
I have been working at this gas station for a month, and have already seen my fair share of absolute trashiness, but I will start with a story from tonight. Enjoy. =)
It was a night like any other night at the undisclosed gas station in northern Arkansas. Quiet. Too Quiet. I decided it was time for me to check the trash cans for what goodies I could find before disgustedly throwing them in the big trash bin in the sky. As I tucked the garbage bag into my back pocket and walked over to the trash can and started to change it, I heard a noise. A noise that always sends a chill down my spin. The squeaky sound of somebody’s piece of shit car pulling up. I shook it off, continued to change the trash, finished it, and headed back towards my kiosk. It was then that I smelled it…the smell of shame. The smell of that wonderfully cheap Aristocrat vodka. I knew I was in for a treat.
As I hit the kiosk door, a young and startlingly trashy younger woman very loudly slurs, “What the hell are you doing out there?” This could be trouble. She was slurring and yelling, and we just can’t have that at our fine establishment. I prepped for the worst. I walked in, and put on game face (standard game face being the biggest shit eating grin I can possibly muster) and said, “How can I help you?” She looked at me, you know, the drunk look, like “I can’t quite figure out your angle.” However, she finally snapped back to reality (oh, there goes gravity) and said (keep in mind, any time I say ‘said’ I mean ‘yelled through slurs’) “I need a pack of Marlboro lights, I need a lighter and I need to prepay 5 dollars on that truck over tharrrrr.” Siiiiigh. Damn it.
“Can I see your I.D. please?” I asked, very politely. She had yet to give me a reason to be mean, so I thought, “What the hell? Give it a shot.” She smirked. “Nope, I am old enough.” Hmmm. She was old enough. I knew that. But, policy says that if they look under 40, you card them. Her liver may have been 40, but she couldn’t have been more than 21 or so. I persisted. “I can’t sell to you without I.D.” She finally, after a few slurred mumblings about something like “Bullshit” or something, she produced I.D. She was indeed old enough, so I rang up her shit. Upon doing so, she proclaimed loudly, “NOT YELLOW, I FUCKING HATE YELLOW!!” I looked down, confused as hell, and getting irritated myself. There were now people behind her, seeing her act a fool. I found out quickly she was speaking of the lighter I chose for her.
“No problem, I’ll grab another one.” So, I reached for the next closest one, an orange one. She once again yelled loudly, “NOT ORANGE EITHER, SHIT, CAN YOU GET THIS RIGHT?” Okay, she had officially hit my pissed button. However, I am a very proud gas station attendant; never let them see you sweat, that’s what I always say. So I let her pick her lighter, and things seemed to be going smoothly…until I swiped her card. Then the words that I see oh so often came up on the screen. It’s like white trash kryptonite. “NSF”, meaning “Not sufficient funds”. Damn it.
After trying four times and listening to her scream “I KNOW I GOT AT LEAST 20 BUCKS ON THAT SON OF A BITCH!”, I told her we’d have to take off the lighter and give it a try. So we did. Same thing. NSF. FUUUUUUUUCK! Well, I thought she was going to just die when I told her the cigs would have to come off, too. I mean, I thought I saw tears welling up! Anyway, I took them off, and wouldn’t you know it? NSF! Well then she got REALLY mad.
She started slamming shit around and throwing a good fit. People in my line were starting to get scared I think, I mean…one lady just bailed. She saw the epic shitstorm off the horizon. Now, through all of this, I kept my cool. Then she drops the bomb that she wouldn’t be leaving without the gas, even if she had to drive off with it. Now, this gas station attendant was done screwing around. I picked up the phone. Enough was enough!
“JUST WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING?!” The look on this woman’s face would have turned a lesser man to stone, just like mesuda’s ugly mug, but I stood my ground. I informed her that she had become a problem, and that I was calling the police to come deal with her drunk self. And with that, before she could even collect a thought…her and her white trash posse at the pump up and vanished like a fart in the wind.
A man came up right after she had left and all he could manage was, “What a crazy bitch.” Well said, sir. Well said.
-Justin
1/31/2011
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