Why We Lock the Doors

So, as I'm sure you have guessed, we lock the doors for the graveyard shift... Or maybe I mentioned it before... I'll assume I havent mentioned it before, as I have no interest in going back and readin my 33 or so previous posts in order to see if I have mentioned locking doors... that would be pointless... If I have mentioned that we lock the doors, I apologise, for I will reiterate that we lock the doors. If I have not yet mentioned that we lock the doors I have a surprise for you...

The doors at my gas station lock, and we lock them during the graveyard shift.

Wow... I think i need to sleep, but I will continuenone the less, as it will probibly be a more inyteresting story when you factor in my sleep induced delusions!

Okay, on with the story... that was probibly the longest preamble in my literary history. I should write a note to myself to be more concise with these things...

I digress...

So this topic is going to be a splice of two customers I have had the joy of serving ove rthe last two days.

First we have a barlely coherent homeless person. Hmm... maybe homeless is a bit of an outdated term. I don't want to be accused of being discriminatory... I will call him a house-o-Phobe (kinda like homophobe except house, instead of milk)

So he comes in to pay for his cigarettes. In typical houseophobe fasion, paying entirely in nickes and shiny beads.

Now like most people paying with a lot of change, he announces his purchase (a pack of duMaurier Regular King Size... a bit rich for a person of his public stature, but who am I to judge) and starts counting the coin, that way he can get a bit of a head start in the counting of the coin in the time it takes me to retrieve his mechendise and return. And because he is guranteed the cigarettes are going to cost at least several dollars he does not really need to know the price of the cigarettes until he is sure he is approaching the value he expects them to be (for example, if he thinks theyre going to be about $8 as he approaches completion of his $7 pile, he will ask the value... this is usually the case for all polite coin counters).

Needless to say, he asks for the price.

"$8.95" I respond

"8.95!!!" he screams, still counting his change... He screams some more... then moves on to the obscenities... All the while still counting up to the 8.95 value.

He completes his piles, and assides from the continuing screaming would be the ideal customer. he makes no offensive movements (like he's going to pounce... mimicing some sort of tiger onto a wounded animal) nor does he direct his yelling towards me or any of the customers. And he stands over to the side while I count his change so my coworker can serve other customers.

He leaves the store. Still yelling about how high cigareete prices are.

he even pauses for a second in the middle of the parking lot, so that he can bend over and yell directly at the ground.

Now this isn't voice raised yelling...

No, this is 'I can hear him still through double paned glass from 40 feet away" yelling...

Eventually he turns the corner past our store, and I havent seen him since...





My second door locking story comes form a completely different kind of customer... This is the creep-eww-gross kind of customer that most people would turn their backs to in order to avoid their crackhead/nose-running-down-to-their-chin goodness. Anyways, I was moping the floor, and my cooworker was doing something behind the counter... I think he was making coffee... or baking... or maybe he was doing dishes... Who really knows... I dont, nor do I really care...

Anyways, there came a rap tap tapping on our chamber door (quoth the raven 'nevermore')

I'm so tired, I need to go to sleep as soon as Im done writing this...

As i was saying, someone knocked on our door... And my cowrker let them in.

So now I have two crackeheads running through our store (he had brought his pseudo-prostitute girlfriend with him it seems... I call her a pseudo-prostitue because from the looks of her, I doubt her ability to charge when so many attractive girls in Cloverdale are giving it away for free)

Anyways, she runs straight for the bathroom... Hopefully to take some sort of contraceptive... we dont need these things reproducing... and he runs straight for the slurpees (drink the mountain dew sir, apparently it decreases your sperm count... drink a lot of it... please)

wow... Im an ass when im tired...

okay okay, back to the story.

The guy fills up an extra large cup with grape slurpee... And then proceeds to walk straight out the door...

Now, you're probibly thinking "what kind of idiot drinks grape slurpee?"

Okay okay, I know... you are actually thinking "what kind of idiot walks past two employees out a door with merchandise in hand, only to sit on a bike and wait for a crack-whore girlfriend... but now that you mention it, who does drink grape slurpee?"

But boy, does it get better...

He gets outside with his newly stolen slurpee... grabs his bike... sits on it... gets off his bike, poors the slurpee on the ground (I wish i could say this was a waste... but is grape... eww grape...) and proceeds to perform an angry tap dance on the now emptied cup...

He also started yelling... Perhaps he realised the err of his ways, and then thought to himself 'they probibly wont let me back in to grab some mountain dew, are they' leading to the little dance rutine that led to the demise of the cup....

So yeah... these are the type of people who i am defended from by the means of a solitary magnetic lock. If the power ever goes out, these people are going to have free range of me, Im sure...

Anyways, Im going to bed... g'night all!