Life of Me

I'm running out of ideas for new post names... SO thats what you get, lame isn't it?

I hope this post isn't as lame... But I make no promises...

So today I got the lovely job of "clean up all the things that never get cleaned because people from head office are comming into the store for inspecting like reasons and heaven forbid they see the store how it normally the other 362 3/4 days of the year (I may have pulled that figure out of my ass)...

Today also happened to be a day that we broke 30 C inside the store (according to our thermostaty like thing)…

And, as I recently learned, the 7/11 has shut down, leaving us, chevron and shell as the sole slurpee distributing agencies of any calibre in the Cloverdale area… (and I’m pretty sure we have the slurpee selection of the two combined)

My job of cleaning became my job of cleaning the slurpee area…

And, to top it all off, the exploding slurpee machine is still out of commission… It exploded on another person the next day, so we won’t open it back up until a specialist comes in (An old priest and a young priest is what I asked for…)

You would not believe the number of people who bypass the two yellow “Out of Service” signs on the slurpee machine (one covering the flavour and one hanging from the handle, obstructing the slurpee distributing nozzle turn projectile slurpee launcher—Josh/Sharon, a /comment verification for my readers of the set up would be much appreciated) only to have the cups knocked out of their hands… Then they turn to me, as I frantically try to clean up other messes, as if they’re stupidity is my fault…

I even had one person ask me why we had it packed up… I explained the exploding slurpee story… He shrugged and moved the sign to pour… As he’s pour, he looks over his shoulder at me and says, “it’s not me that’s going to have to clean it up”

At that moment in time, there were two things I wanted more than anything else in the entire world:

1) I wanted the slurpee machine to explode and launch his slurpee straw directly from his cup and directly into his brain

2) I wanted the entire medical world to forget that the cure for a slurpee straw in the brain is to remove the straw (thus disallowing the removal of the straw rendering him forever a reminder that signs are to read and followed)

Sadly, neither occurred L

After trudging knee deep in slurpee for several hours, foot traffic slowed down enough that only two people were required to be in the store to clean and serve… So I moved outside in the blistering heat in my thick cotton/polyester blend standard issue winter petro Canada shirt (I get hand me downs cuz I’m only here for the summer)

I wanted to die…

I’m a sweaty person; I will not lie… Walking down stairs to obtain a drink leaves me leaking from the temples and the back… So imagine having to scrub a years worth of grime off of a gas station, in the sun, in the heat, wearing a shirt that would make a Mongol yaks-man in the dead of winter break out into heat rashes…

Needless to say, I was regretting how skimpy I may have been on the deodorant…

Not that it matters… after a few minutes I got used to it, and it was others whom had to suffer… Ah ha ha!

It is while I am s.o.s-ing the rust from one of the pumps that I meet the second dimwit of the day…

I had both nozzles out of their holsters (as the holsters is where I am scrubbing)…

I turn around for a few seconds to grab some paper towel (it was about 5 steps) and I come back to find a car blocking the pump I was cleaning…

The husband had one of the nozzles, which he had picked up of the ground, while the wife was trying to find the latch to release the gas tank to their car…

Now picture this:

You drive into a gas station. All the pumps are unoccupied.

Which one do you go to?

A: the one nearest to the entrance?
B: a pump that is complementary to the side of your car the gas tank happens to be on.
C: The pump there both nozzles are on the ground, slathered in blue soapy goo, partially blocked by a large bucket filled with similarly coloured water, next to a gas station attendant wearing gloves with blue soapy goo covering most of the finger tips, carrying a bottle of spray an s.o.s. Pad and some paper towel…

If you picked ‘C’, I hate you…

No seriously… Even if you only picked ‘C’ as a joke, I hate you!

ESPECIALLY if you give a dirty look as I gather my things from behind your car and move on to a different pump while you finish your transaction…

I gave him a dirty look right back… the entire time I was cleaning the other pump I gave him a dirty look…

But not just a dirty, I gave him the dirty look…

Imagine stereotypical afro-American movie in which a wife finds out that her husband is cheating on her, and she runs into the girl at a club, but the girl doesn’t even know the guy has a wife… And the wife just glares at her across the dance floor…

That’s the glare I gave…

My forehead hurt after words…

It’s Over!