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.