confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

Sometimes us humans aren't very smart. We all have our blonde moments, some more than others. I haven't quite figured out which I think is worse: saying something stupid in front of total strangers or in front of your friends. It is funnier to me, however, to blog about complete strangers that made a fool of themselves in front of me.
These few examples come from folks mistaking product or company names, which left me clenching my mouth shut so I didn't burst out laughing.
A lady came in the other day and asked for "Pyramid Mint Lights"....what!? Assuming she wanted some kind of cigarette, I said, "Do you mean Parliament, not Pyramid?"
"No, Pyramid Mint Lights", she insisted.
I politely told her there was no such brand as Pyramid cigarettes and that cigarettes come only in regular and menthol, not mint. The whole time I was trying not to chortle.
She looked at me, a bit embarassed, and admitted they weren't for her and asked if she could see the package on the Parliament Menthol Lights.
+1 time the customer was not right.

Quite a while ago a woman came in and ordered "Caramel Lights"....again, what!?!
This one was a bit more obvious, she was ordering "Camel Lights", but apparently was letter-happy and added a few to her order.
I repeated, "Camel Lights?" to clarify and she looked at me angrily and said "What? No! Caramel Lights! The blue and white box! CARAMEL LIGHTS!" Okay okay. Crazy woman.
Caramel? Really? Wow.
+1 more time the customer was not right.

(And the best...)
A guy walked in the store and started looking around. I asked if he needed help finding anything. He said no, but looked very reluctant about his answer as he kept on his search. A bit later he walked up towards the counter and said "I'm looking for these snacks...and I think they are the Dolly Parton snacks. Yes yes yes! That's it, the Dolly Parton snacks."
I was puzzled. And flabbergasted. And this time I definitely let a laugh out.
He tried to explain to me what he was looking for, but I couldn't make out if it was a candy bar or what he was looking for, he just kept insisting that it was a Dolly Parton brand snack.
Finally, it clicked. He was looking for the Little Debbie snacks. I lost it. I was nearly in tears by the time he picked out what he wanted. The best part? He picked out Little Debbie Sno Balls....

You might think I'm lying. But I'm not.

Have a good day, come back soon. Don't let the embarrassing times get you down, we all do it.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

Sometimes I hear funny.

"Do you got llamas?"

I knew there was more than a grammatical error to this sentence, for it simply did not make sense! Who walks into a gas station and inquires about llamas!? Exactly. No one.
Well, it sounds like something the Martian Man would've done, but he hasn't been around for years. More about him another day.
Llamas become Mambas and make much more sense. The happy customer swipes 4 packages of Mambas with twinkling eyes of wonderment and joy.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

The other day a customer took the checkbook-balancing-at-the-counter trend a little too far. Yep. She pulled out a calculator. I looked at her in awe as I saw the clock flip to 5:30pm out of the corner of my eye. Other folks lined up behind her and waited impatiently as she punched away at her number-subtracting-machine. Ugh.


Tonight a little Korean man came in, as he does every week, to buy $40 in Powerball tickets for a pool he has with his coworkers. He's a funny fellow...often humming or whistling as I scan his lottery tickets, hoping for a winner. Occasionally he says something strange, but not weird strange, but the kind of strange where I find something hilarious that he said when he did not intend for it to be funny, and visa versa.
He walked in this evening and said, "Hi, you look like you could be your sister."
"My sister?", I said confused, "I don't have a sister."
"Well you look like you are your sister."
"Okay...."
"You don't have a sister?"
"Nope, I don't have a sister."
"Your brother?"
"I don't have a brother, and if I did I would surely hope that I wouldn't look like him!"
"No brother and no sister? Don't you want a sister?"
"No, I don't think I'd want a sister."
"Don't you want a brother?"
"No, I don't think I'd want a brother either."
"Well, what do you want then!?!?"
"......a husband", I said as I started chuckling.
He didn't get it, but I thought it was funny.

This summer there was a very attractive fellow from Queensland, Australia that was here playing fastpitch baseball or softball or some sport where he was a pitcher and threw a ball very fast. Anyhow, he was always very confused about our coins and would just throw them on the counter and ask me to help him count our "crazy looking money". It always throws me off when someone comes in and orders something with a thick foreign accent. It takes my brain a few seconds to realize that I need to pay closer attention because this guy was not asking for a lye turd, but he was saying "lie-tuh, lie-TUH! I need a lie-tuh." A what? Oh. Marry me. Thanks.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

Kids are hilarious. They say funny things that make us adults laugh, not because what they say is neccessarily funny, but the manner and context in which they say it, topped with the undeniable kid-innocence that we all had back in the day of Cabbage Patch Kids (my beloved Jobina Ruth!) and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and wooden toys and metal playgrounds and walking to school uphill both ways barefoot in the snow...
Anyway, there are a lot of kids we know here by name...I have a silly habit of only asking the names of the awesome ones so my work life is full of awesome tiny friends.
Tonight 2 year old witty as all get out Liam came in with his dad and brother, Hayden (who is about 5), who Liam introduced to my mom and I. (My mom is the owner, for those of you who didn't know.) My mom misunderstood little Liam and thought Hayden's name was Caden (equally awesome name) and said "Hi Caden! Nice to meet you!"
Hayden replied, "Actually it's Hayden."
My mom apologized and gave a very motherly response of, "I'm sorry honey" as his dad chucked at how serious he was about correcting her. She carried on, "That's alright Hayden. Our name is the only thing that can't be taken away from us, so we have to be proud of the one we have."
Hayden proudly replied, "Yeah, except for Chad Johnson. He changed his last name to Ocho Cinco so he didn't want his old name, now his name is the same as his numbers. He's like 'hey everybody, call me Ocho Cinco it's Spanish for my number but now it's my name!' which is pretty weird."

His dad, my mom & I completely lost it! Between laughs I managed to say to Hayden, "You're completely right buddy!"

Man, I love little kids.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

I love messing with drunk people. It's probably one of my favorite parts of the late night, almost closed up, few straggler customers, finish up cleaning and get excited to go home time of night.
After a long conversation about the floor and pint vs. 12oz cans of beer, and how I actually did carve those pumpkins on the counter, and no, he can't poke the owls eyes out just to see what it's like...

Drunk dude: "So like what do you do? You hang out? When are we hanging out? So like you work and then you hang out huh?"
Me: "Yes. I work and I hang out."
Drunk dude: "So like hang out with your boyfriend? Or what? your boyfriend?"
Me: "Yes. With my boyfriend."
Drunk dude: "Dude you're breaking my heart. You gotta boyfriend?" (grabs his chest like he's in pain.)
Me: "Are you sure I'm breaking your heart? ...because that's your right boob."

 BAHAHA!

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

There are times when I think that I've seen/heard/smelled/witnessed it all...but then I remember the exact reason why I have this blog - because I haven't. There's always something quirkier weirder funnier more stupid more dense more idiotic more gullible more jaw-dropping than I could ever imagine.

The other night while I was cleaning the men's bathroom, which is really a beloved chore of mineasdl;sadflkndsafoi....sorry about that, I was choking for a second... I noticed something in the bottom of the toilet. Usually it would've just been leftover poop that didn't get flushed or something else equally nasty, but this time it was shiny. What on earth, I thought to myself as I continued scrubbing along.
Suddenly, I saw it. It was a quarter. A million questions started racing through my head. How did it get there? Did someone poop that out? How long as it been there? Did it just fall out of someone's pocket? Why is it so shiny? Did that seriously come out of someone's butt? Why are men so freaking creepy? What the hell? Why why why why why is there a quarter in the bottom of the toilet?

I'm still confused. And a little baffled. And maybe slightly impressed. Maybe. But definitely, definitely confused.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

I'm not really sure why you do it. There's not any reason for you to do it here, right in front of me, a line of people behind you. Tapping fingers on the counter to help your subtractions. 'Tis a silly thing. Please avoid this when you are in my line. I know it's exciting, but I promise promise promise it can wait. I may even be looking at you menacingly, but you still carry on with your number-moving. I suppose I may applaud your dedication as people behind you begin to shuffle and I even motion for you to slide over a bit so I can help the next person, but no, oh no, you carry on.
Why do you insist on balancing your checkbook at my counter?

So what if my applause was a slow clap? (and only in my head.) 


Thank you, come again soon.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

Tonight some shocking and saddening news was tossed my way 'round about 10:08pm. Apparently Pierce Manufacturing is laying off over 100 employees, and starting tomorrow my (very) regular 10pm customer friend is going to be laid off for an uncertain amount of time. As I pondered the cuteness of him actually taking the time to share this information with me, we discussed how strange and sucky it's going to be not to see one another every evening and his future plans to live off of unemployment and my future plans to sell gas until my hair turns grey (or until I get a job in my field). As he walked out the door and wished me a good night and said he'd see me tomorrow, I knew instantly what I had to do.

Yep. I baked him cookies. I mean, let's be honest...
who doesn't want you're-getting-laid-off-cookies from the girl at the gas station!?!?

Exactly.
So I gathered supplies and dug out the cookbook my mom made for me last Christmas which houses my (McGuyvered) cookie recipes. No, I won't give you the recipes. They are secret. I will tell you that I made coffee cookies (to the left, awaiting their turn in the oven) and double chocolate chip cookies and then put a little twist on my mint double chocolate chip cookies...

Yes. Yes. Yes, you're seeing that right, they're filled with chocolate. Dripping, oozing, melty, delicious chocolate. They are minty and fresh like a thin mint, but oh no, these suckers would never ever be called thin. You can just go ahead and drool for a minute.                                                 

I ate this one to test it out and needed a full glass of water to be able to breath again. Monster cookie of delicious chocolately goodness, welcome to my tummy.

So anyhow these wonder-cookies will be delivered tomorrow night, the last night that 10pm will mean a guaranteed sale complete with smiles and stupid laughs.

Of course I'll be sharing the rest of the batches of cookies with my other favorite customers:(aforementioned) Heath, Kevin Smith (really! but ok... not the famous one), Rick & Kathy, Dave, my fellow employees and maybe you!

(EDIT: Cookie delivering went uproariously well. He was delighted and in a bit of shock that I baked cookies for him. It was pretty much the cutest thing ever. After I convinced him that I did indeed make cookies for him by handing him a bag full of delightful mounds of awesome he got a little silly.

Me: Do you like coffee?

Him: Whattt? Yeah! Yes. 

Me: These are coffee cookies. And these are double choc. And these are mint double choc with choc chunks inside...

Him: What! No way. Woahhhh! I'm going to be shaking from a sugar high all night tonight.

Me: It's okay because these cookies are amazing. You'll see.

Him: I can't....believe................for me? 

Me: Yes. 

His regular smiley demeanor was especially smiley tonight. I love that. I'm just bubbling along tonight...how fun!)

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


tears. (teerz) noun. -fluid appearing in or flowing from the eye as result of emotion; grief, sorrow.
They rarely fall from my eyes, but sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. This one was inflicted by a combination of the following: irritability, the price of chocolate, pen throwing, law-abiding-ness, other women's pms, the cost of gas, other woman's crappy day.
I go in waves at the store, there will be months that go by that I thoroughly enjoy work and am able to tolerate customers and treat them amicably but every once in awhile I just feel over-loaded and it seems that if I have to fake nice for one more customer that I will spontaneously combust (which is pretty much the worst possible thing at a gas station).
I get tapped out of nice. Out of being cordial. Out of being welcoming and homey. Out of being a little ray in sunshine in someone's day. Rude customers come and go...they bum me out for a few minutes but I'll get over it as the night moves on.
For the first time the other night, a rude woman left with her goods she complained and grumbled and threw pens (at me!?!) over and I felt myself welling up, so I walked in the back room, turned on the buzzer for the door, and started to cry. Those emotional-girl thoughts started racing though my head..."I don't deserve to be treated like that!" "I cannot believe how rude some people are!" "Jeez I'm like the nicest person ever and I'm freaking crying!" "Why am I crying...I'm such a nerd." "I AM SO LAME NOBODY LIKES ME!" "Oh my gosh nobody likes me I'm never going to get married!" ....and on and on and on. Luckily nobody came in during my dramatic tear escapade, but I quickly realized it was nearing 10pm. Shortly after ten bells walks in a great customer friend dude guy who offered to beat up the woman who hurt my feelings and made me cry. Life was alright after that. 

Seriously. Don't forget we're not robots. We have feelings.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

hot dog buns v. brat buns: the great debate.

Last week I had 3 customers leave without buying anything because we don't sell brat buns even though we had a shelf full of fresh and cheap hot dog buns.
I do not understand this kind of dedication to a meal component. To be fair, brats are much better on actual brat buns, but if you've already taken the time to drive to a store and arrive at that one store and they offer a very similar product to what you're looking for, why wouldn't you just buy that stand-in product instead of driving to another (and maybe yet another) store to find your beloved brat buns?
I'm puzzled. I feel I cannot offer any more insight on this issue, so I'd like to leave it up to you, the reader, to give your insight/feelings/opinions on the great debate.

Thank you in advance.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


I find myself becoming more and more blog-conscious, meaning when funny things happen at the store I'll jot them down on a note to remind myself to blog about them later. I just pulled a note out of my wallet that I left for myself to find and it's nothing short of a scribbled, mis-spelled, grammarless mess. I must've been busy because I tend to be a grammar nazi with neat & tidy writing.
Here's what it said:
I like living in a place where it's still socially acceptable to drive your tractor to the gas station to get fuel.
People pull up to the pump on all sorts of funky things like tractors, riding lawn mowers, Wisconsin State Trooper motorcycles, antique cars, snow mobiles, powered parachutes, and Can-Am Spyders.
My feelings towards these motor-powered units would definitely be less welcoming if it weren't for small town charm. The guy on the tractor is the owner of the Silver Spur Saloon (cheap drinks, crappy juke box). The State Trooper just finished some training and wants some chocolate and a soda. The guy on the mower has special needs and can't drive a car. A guy is teaching his son how to snow mobile. All the folks with antique cars like to show off their stuff. The guy in the powered parachute, well, who knows...that was just weird. And the guys on the Spyders always have other avid motorcyclists flock to them when they're fueling up. Folks walk in and tell me stories of their motor-powered movers and a emit of glow of pride and a few slices of ego. And this is alright.
I ask how the bar is doing, how long it took to rebuild, how training went, how that thing rides, how do you fly that thing, and if it's alright if I close up shop and come snow-mobiling with you.  I laugh to myself when kids spend more on a soda than they do filling up their moped. I laugh to myself when folks pay more to put gas in their boat then I do on monthly rent. I laugh to myself when moms driving Hummers tell their kids to put something back because it costs too much.

None of these feelings would be the same if it weren't for the small town charm. I never thought, after loving life in Chicago for upwards for 4 years, that I would embrace a sort of know everyone atmosphere.
Eels put it best:
Life is funny
not ha-ha funny
peculiar I guess

------------

Thanks. Have a great day!

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

Sometimes you have those nights that just make sense to end with a dance party/sing-a-long. This one happened to be brought to you by the Beatles' Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club album and a few tricky customers.

A new Sonic opened just down the road from the store last week. Apparently this is a huge deal for NE Wisconsin because there has never been a Sonic in or around the area. (In fact, the closest was Indianapolis, Indiana...some friends of mine road tripped there in high school for some Sonic food on a whim. Crazies.) This new Wisconsin Sonic has required the local police to direct traffic, parking lots full of traffic cones asking cars to weave this way and that way to finally reach their destination of pull-up-and-order fun. Waiters/tresses skate around and bring you food and fun whilst you sit in your car and drop a fry under your seat. Of course in order to get here you had to wait in the biggest traffic pile-up you'll ever see in a 100 mile radius of Sonic. It's bizarre.

Late Wednesday evening an elderly gentleman came into the store to pay for some gasoline. He slowly made his way inside and up to the counter as I greeted him and asked how his night was going. (Surely I should've learned by now that to ask how someone's day is is not the safest question.) He grumpily paid for his gas and then began going on an on about how pissed he was about the whole Sonic fiasco.
"They skate to your car!", he grumbled as I questioned (to myself) why this is such a terrible thing.
"You can't even eat inside! You have to eat in your damn car!", he proclaimed.
I responded, "well sir, I think that's just how Sonic's are. It's all part of the experience."
"Well it's a damn lousy experience. What the hell are you supposed to do in winter! It's lousy!", he grumbled again.
Seeing that my conversation with this man was going to be a losing battle, I simply told him, "I'm sure that's part of the reason that they never had Sonic's in Wisconsin before. The whole idea simply doesn't make sense for a good deal of the year."
He got more upset. Realizing he wasn't upset at me I wished him a good night. He wasn't quite finished venting, "And they have those terrible commercials...two HOMOS sitting in a car talking about stupid shit. HOMOS. I don't want to see that. That's terrible. If you're gonna sell food, tell me about the food. Don't show me two homos in a car and expect me to eat at your place."
I think all I could muster up at this point was "uhhhh, ok."
(this is just one commercial with the two guys he was talking about.)

I spent the few minutes after he (finally) left thinking about how generations other than my own react to marketing. Apparently to this man, two men sitting in a car being witty or dumb means two gay men are being terrible role models for the rest of the world. Some people may not understand the type of marketing that they are using. Some may just not like it. I understand these things...but to assume so passionately that you're seeing two gay men interact and have that bother you so much should really make you question yourself and your own morality, not of those actors you're seeing. Social norms and trends are such interesting things to consider, debate, and watch unfold.
(end sociological rant.)

All that to say, I went to my car, got a Beatles CD and turned it up. I started dancing around between customers, replaying my favorite songs, humming along. My bliss multiplied as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds came on and a man shopping started singing along, which made a guy in line start singing, which got passed on to someone who walked in the door. It was lovely.
The album ends with a reprise of Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club and a lot of silliness. As the last song played, someone opening up a door to the beer cooler yelled "SARGENT PEPPER'S LONELY HEARTS CLUUUUUUUUB BAAAAAAAND!"

It made my day a million times better. I'm thinking about making CDs of the Beatles anthology and having Beatles nights at the store. ...because really, who doesn't like the Beatles.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

I don't mind if you come in in your pajamas ladies, but please wear a bra.
And on other days you may wear skanky clothes in my store, but please keep your ladies in their place.

I want to retort stupid questions with stupid answers.
Like such as:
"Do you have milk?" ......and I'd say, "We are those Wisconsinites who don't believe in milk. No."

"Is this green button enter?" .......and I'd say, "NO! That's the time travel button. It'll bring us back to '85."

"Is your gas leaded? It just says regular." ......and I'd say, "Yes, we were magically able to skirt around strict laws since the '70s."

"What's this thing?" (pointing at the ATM) .....and I'd say, "It's a magical Mario mushroom dispenser. If you're lucky, you'll get a One Up and get an extra life."

"Do you hate your job?" .....and I'd say, "Yes, but only when people like you come around....otherwise I kind of love it."
All real questions.

Also, why is it so hard for a boy to ask a girl out? Is it the awkward counter between us? Huh. This sucks.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


I really love to high five people.
Sometimes it's my job to decide what to put on the marquee.
Recently, I grabbed letters from the back room, dragged the tall ladder out of the shed and carried it to the marquee all while giggling like a little girl.
One by one, I took the letters down from the last marquee message, made a neat stack of them, and then began assembling my new message.
Letter by letter, I began to get more excited for the nights to come where I could display awesomeness and have fun at work and get to see a new side of my regular customers. After putting up all of the letters, I compulsively centered the words on the board before I climbed down the ladder and skipped back into the store.

I took one last look:
STOP IN FOR
FREE SMILES &
HIGH FIVES!

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

I haven't babbled about ridiculous work stories here for a while, so I thought I'd make a trip back to blog land...

...mostly because it's been 3 hours since I left work and I STILL have Miley Cyrus' new song stuck in my head. I usually switch between the top 40 station and the oldies station at work, but tonight I guess I had it on top 40s the whole 8 1/2 hours. Bad choice Batman. Life is hard. My soul is sad.

I'll make it through. I know this because there have been stretches of long, hard days, which I think any person working in retail can attest to. A few weeks ago I had such a terribly long week that I made a list of all the crap that happened. It went like this:
Ostracizing father customer: 1
Curdled/Coagulated milk explosion: 1
Can of Sparks, exploding & sticky: 1
Crazy drunk crack-head zombie, returning twice for beer: 1
Can of Coors Lt, exploding and foaming: 1
Stoned old woman, whining, pouting, in a swimming suit, with Dr-from-Back-to-the-Future-esque hair, begging to use a lighter to light her joint in the store, almost crying as I kick her out and threaten to call the cops: 1
Tail pipe falling off on my way home from work: 1
PMS: 1
Snooty woman incapable of pumping gas: 1
(I'm sure there's more that I'm forgetting.)
Sarah: 0. zilch. nada. none. empty. done. ugh.

It started with "I'll scan these for you so you don't have to over-exert yourself. I don't want you to have to work."
And ended with out-dated curdled coagulated stinky ass milk exploding on the out-dated shelf in the cooler.

Sometimes I just feel like I need a vacation.
Instead, I bought a new vehicle, thinking that would give me lasting comfort of not having to fix my (old) car atleast twice a month and the expense digging its nasty head into my grocery funds.
My (old) car is for sale in front of the store. Tonight an older gentleman, who is set on winning the lottery, lectured me on how I need to get it detailed (despite the fact I spent 2 hours cleaning it this weekend) and washed and waxed. I politely reminded him of the forecast for the new few days, calling for thunderstorms, of the severe variety. Also, I just don't care.

In any case, there are some days that I'd just like to pin a button on my uniform that says "I'm pretty sure I'm smarter than you. Don't make me prove it."

This is a kind reminder to not treat your gas station attendant like poop. Get off your phone. Don't pay in all pennies, nickels, and dimes. Don't poop on the seat. Don't wash your car with the squeegies. Don't put dead animals/animal parts in the garbages. Don't complain about our prices (we can do anything about it anyway). Don't throw stuff at us. Don't belittle us.
We're humans, too.
And sometimes we have dance parties.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


Rules for flirting with the gas station attendant:

1. Generally DON'T do it.
2. If you must do it, do not suck.
3. If you are flirting, (your age divided by 2)+7 should not equal a number any larger than the girls age. Example. Dude is 38. 38/2=19+7=26. I am not 26. You are too old for me.
4. "Blah blah blah Gamblers hockey goalie stunk hot dogs blah blah blah You Single? Wanna date?" Is the worst line ever. I was so shocked that my reply sucked, you big creepy 40something lisper creep. Yes. No. Sorta single. Not looking for anything. No. No no sorry. Bye. Crap.
5. You wearin' perfume? Also not a good thing to say.
6. Don't flirt when you're completely obliterated. "Your skin complexion is just PERFECT! I want to high five you so bad right now." Is not a great line. It was great when you fell over trying to open the door to leave, though.
7. Don't insult my job then try to flirt with me. Even if I thought you were cute before, you definitely aren't now.
8. Don't flirt if you are married. This applies especially to the guys that are married and don't wear wedding rings. Scandalous and dangerous and go home to your wife.
9. You single? Who wants to know? Generally the best answer is no. Not single. Sometimes I even switch my ring over to my left hand. It's that serious.
10. If I flirt back, you are entitled to engaged in casual flirting every time you stop in and I'm there. This does not mean love.
11. If you are a knight, and you are there to sweep me away, give me 15 seconds to turn on the alarm and lock up.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


"Do you happen to have some day old bread? I have some seagulls that are starving.
....it's just my soft spot."
-crazy lady who proceeded to buy a perfectly delicious and fresh $2.49 loaf of white bread.

I'm seriously serious.

The distance between posts is not a sign of a distance between excitement and funnythings at the store. We've been quite busy switching over to a new brand of gas (BP) and getting accustomed to new registers. Sales seem to be up not only because the weather is finally starting to act like spring, but because of the change. I'd say 99% of the people are happy about it, the others are just OCD or have credit cards from the old company and would rather not get another gas card. Understood.

We had a huge 4-5 foot bunny on top of our deli case for Easter. I loved it for two reasons. One. Kids just loved him. "MOM MOM MOM LOOK IT'S THE EASTER BUNNY!!" was a pretty standard response but of course it varied in cuteness and excitement depending on age and awakeness. Two. I could hold immensely awesome solo dance parties behind him and no one would know. For real.
The day after Easter, one of the opening ladies hid Hector, the big bunny, in the store somewhere...hard to do, hiding something so big and white and cuddly wonderful. Well, we knew where he was, we just sorta forgot about moving him after the after work rush. As I walked into our beer cooler/cave/awesome to fill it just before closing I gasped! as Hector, the big bunny, sat atop a stack of Bud Light cases, looking at me gleefully and encouraging me to buy some beer at the local corner store. The most ridiculous part was that as I carried him out of the walk-in cooler, an entourage of gangly high school boys entered the store. Awesome.

I love Mountain Dew. I tried to quit drinking it the other day, but resulted in me giving up soon after my shift started and announcing to my Mom that I was drinking the best cup of Mtn Dew ever on the planet.
It's hard out there for an addict.

I can't wait for tomorrow night. People are going to be in a great mood: it's going to be beautiful outside, it's Friday, I'm working and I'm awesome, I'm sure the Brewers are playing and they might not lose, and it's FREE HIGH FIVE DAY.
I'm totally makin' a sign for that last one. Think I'm lyin'? I'm not.

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.


I have favorites. Different kinds of favorites....favorites that come in daily, favorites that I don't get to see very often, favorites that I'd rather not see very often even though I enjoy short visits, favorites who I know will hang around so I can run in the bathroom, favorites who will help me shovel, favorites who bring me cookies, favorites who spend a LOT of money, and super-duper-all-time favorites....
Most, of course, fit into more than one of those categories, but it still doesn't change the fact that my insides get excited when the bell rings and they walk through the door. I realized recently that a big part of me will be missing if I ever change jobs. Over the years, I have formed relationships with people that most would classify as the strangest and most unorthodox type of relationship they have ever heard. This is a common feeling.
There aren't many places where you can frequent one business and form a relationship with an employee. Coffee shops and bars are the easiest. Gas stations, I'm sure, are on some folk's lists, but I think that I transcend the awesomeness of every other gas station attendant....ever. I think I would win an award for my customer retention and what-kind-of-cigarette-you-smoke-memory. Of course there are people who don't like me, and no doubt people that I don't like either.
I'm trying to figure out if I'm really as awesome as I just made myself out to be...

Two customers I feel I couldn't do without:
Heath. Number 1 all-time awesome customer. Comes in every night after 6:30pm. Diet Pepsi, Doritos, Butterfinger, & a sandwich. Occasionally Powerball, a Red Bull or Busch Light. Always feisty. Always awesome. He fits every category for favorite. He is also my neighbor. He fixes my car. He comes to the rescue when I have creepy lurkers.
Tom. Number 1 most favorite, butterflies in the stomach when he walks through the door, always makes me smile customer. He moved back home to Illinois in the fall. By far the most predictable customer. Camel Lights, Jacks sausage pizza, Miller Lite. Occasionally Reese's PB and gasoline. Always a smile. I still miss him. I told him so last night. He reciprocated. I melted. I wish that he'd walk through the door one night and completely surprise me. Alas, he's 3 hours away and who knows if he ever had a ridiculous crush on me too.

*sigh*
It's a rough job. I get so attached.
I've helped people quit smoking. I've helped people start. I've calmed down a soon-to-be-father in a rush on the way to the hospital. I made friends with the neighbor kids. I had an 80 year old Irish man sing a song to me. I high-five the Schwan's man every time he comes through the door. I have dance parties.
I get grumpy. I kick people out. I clean poop off the walls. I dump mop water on my feet. I break a bottle at the end of the night. I clean up and entire gallon of spilled milk. I shovel. I clean out garbage cans. I change the marquee.


and I love it.

(usually.)

confessions of a...

gas station attendant.

"Hello. How are you tonight?"
"Good. He's pumping gas outside in the grey car."
"Both cars outside are grey. You're in the one that's farther away from the store?"
"Yeah. I don't know the pump number."
"Okay. Pump 8."
"No. Pump 7. Grey car."
"Yep. That's pump 8 and he's still pumping."
"Right. No. Pump 7. "
"Pump 8 is actually on the back side of pump 7."
"Right he's on pump 7."
.....
"Okay. $30.00 on Pump 8."
"No. He's on pump 7."
"Sure. You're right."

(I'm in bold. Obviously.)


I need to know...
why
are
people
so
freaking
dumb
???

Also, we are working on making the Corner Store green. Next up: cleaning supplies.
Floor cleaner: vinegar + water.
Glass cleaner: vinegar + water + lemon.
All purpose cleaner: TBD.

We've already conquered:
lighting, garbage tossing, efficient recycling, limiting water use, promoting local businesses by selling products made locally, making really good cookies.

confessions of a

gas station attendant.

It's 9:30pm and you want beer. What do you do? You come to me.Last week, though, someone demanded that wine is beer. I gigglesnorted and insisted that wine is most definitely not beer, and won the battle. (Wisconsin is liquor+wine til 9, beer til midnight, generally.)
Wine is beer though, that's a good one.
Like any gas station, we have a penny cup. I encourage penny usage, really. I actually have a secret vow to never give more than 3 pennies back for change, which means I NEVER give more than 3 pennies back for change. That's right, your 54 cents change from a soda is always, always 55. You're welcome.
However, four pennies is way too many to use from the penny cup. Three is even questionable, but four! Four is right out. Don't be that guy.

Lay off the swiss cake rolls. Everybody needs to do it. Well maybe 7% of the population could stand a daily swiss cake roll or cosmic brownie, but please succumb your desires for gooey melty chocolaty goodness for the sake that you don't need to intake 600 calories like that. It's not worth it. Pop in some M&Ms and grab a glass of wine or a pint of your favorite and chilllll out.

I'm not really sure what possesses people to stuff wads of dollas in their pockets and throw them at me one at a time in smashed, tiny, paper-cuts-waiting-to-happen anxiety balls. But don't freakin do it. I mean, I'm talking a literal BALL SMASHED to the point of you-need-5-minutes-to-straighten-these-bills kind of SMASHED. It's annoying. Plus! You threw them at me like I'm a garbage can, and I don't appreciate that.
Oh, don't throw your credit card at me either. As a matter of fact, don't throw anything at me. I am not one of those sticky fly stripes. I am human. I am not garbage. I have feelings.

Uh, good quote:
"I'm gonna buy this (lighter) for my lezbo friend. Oh yeah. I'm getting this for little lezbo. She'll love it." -crazy lady #67

We know when you are pooping. That's all.

Confessions of a...

Gas Station Attendant.

Just a few things we need to you know, or we know you know, or we think you know but will never understand...

I am not a meteorologist. I have learned that if I don't look up the weather forecast before work that I will suffer scorns and doubt regarding my worthiness of a human being.
I am not a tomtom. I did, however, casually (regrettably, sarcastically, girlishly) fall in love with a fellow of the same name. In any case, I might give you incorrect directions, but probably not. Just because I am female does not mean that you need to negate everything I tell you and go find a 47 year old balding male to ask (who will undoubtedly give you the same directions as I).
I will not give you matches. Why? We don't have any. Why? Are you paying for them? I didn't think so.
We are not public dumping grounds. Please keep your fish guts, toenails, ashtray inhabitants, and gallon jugs of mayonnaises to yourself. They stink, they're gross, they start on fire, and they are just plain weird. (Not. Even. Lying.)
I am not stupid. I do not hate my job. I probably don't have anything better to do than work on a Friday night, no. I'm sorry that you think less of me. I probably don't like you for that.
I have favorites.
I love vacuuming every night.
Even though I say "it's ok" that you just walked on my freshly mopped floor, it really makes me sad inside.
Yelling at me doesn't get you anywhere.

IF you are 40 years old, you should be versatile enough to pump gas from any type of pump. I will come out and help you, but please don't swear at me. You pushed the help button, so that's what I'm doing. I'm even ballsy enough to say that anyone with a driver's license should be that versatile.
(more to come.)