Saturday, January 30, 2010

A trip down my memory lane

Okay, I'm feeling kind of nostalgic all of a sudden. As a result, you guys are going to be treated to a few stories from my my past. There will be plenty in these stories to offend, but, I think they are pretty hysterical. Read at your own risk.


Once upon a time, what feels like a bajillion years ago, I worked third shift at a gas station. I loved that job. It was the craziest retail job I've ever held, and I've pretty much done it all. I started out in a department store, went management, and hated it, because there were too many factors outside of my control in an operation that large. I put in my resume with a company that has a large chain of convenience stores because a friend of mine was working in one of them, and her job rocked....I wore pantyhose, heels, and had dry cleaning....she wore jeans, sneakers, and a smile. I got the job, and I rocked it.

The nightly drama was freaking awesome. The witching hour, otherwise known as after alcohol sales cease, is very entertaining. The strippers, hookers, cab drivers, and police officers comprised the majority of our clientele. I have a wicked sense of humor, but, it is dry and a tad bitchy. That shift was better than anything else I've ever seen for comedic value.

It was around three in the morning when a very drunk woman and her guy stumbled in. She was a redhead, and I had her pegged as a dancer from the moment she tripped in. I turned them down for alcohol, and they were pretty good natured about it. The woman crooked her finger at me, "I wanna show you some'in," she slurred. I figured she was trying to give me money to sell them the beer, so I stayed put.

"Oh, you want me to show you over there?" She walked over to the counter and threw her stiletto pump clad foot, up on my counter. She was wearing a short skirt without panties. "See," she carolled, fingering two tiny silver hoops, "I just got my clit pierced tonight, aren't they pretty? Do you want to touch them?"

No, no I did not. Though, I did make my district manager listen to this story. At the point where he turned scarlet and covered his ears, I threatened to show him the security tape instead.

*The guy she was with then, ending up being one of my best friends, though, the first time I heard, "I'm In Love With a Stripper," I knew it would forever be my ringtone for his number.


It was bright and early in the morning and I was working, my shift was drawing to a close. I was just waiting for enough change so I could make my deposit. A hooker walked in the door. She was wearing a black lace shirt and skirt, completely see through, with nothing underneath, and dollar store flip flops. She had a large army bag over her shoulder.

My motto was live and let live, but, her behaviour was hinky, not doped up, just shifty. I watched her walk up and down the aisles throwing items in her bag. When she finally hit the register area, she asked for an ice cup. I gave it to her and watched her fill it, when she returned to the register to pay for her $.10 cup, I asked if she was planning to pay for the rest of her stuff.

She freaked. She threw the dime at me and started to run. I jumped the counter, a feat I still can't figure out how I managed, and I took off after her. After about a block, I was close enough to grab the strap on the bag. I wasn't letting go, and neither was she. We ran a mile and a half like that, until she finally dragged me out into the middle of traffic. There must have been three cabs following us, with their blinkers on, when the police finally showed up.

The officer's first words were, "why are you ladies fucking up traffic?" Half of the stuff she had ripped off from my store (and a dozen others on the same street) she had tossed into the bushes as we ran, but the ice cup she paid for? They had to put that on the roof of the control car when they cuffed her.


Back in the day, before most gas stations were equipped with electronic gear that measures the height of gas in the holding tanks, we had a very special way of obtaining that information...we would sprinkle baby powder on a very long stick, where the powder remained, we marked the height of the gas.

I was sticking the tanks when I saw a guy running out the door with a cheeseburger in his mouth and two cases of beer under his arms. It was quite obvious he was stealing it. He looked me dead in the eye, "don't you fucking try and stop me bitch," he screamed, as he ran past my gas stick, I picked it up off the ground, and 'accidentally' crushed his balls with it. The 'get away' car dragged him for a half a block before they were able to haul him into the car. He got away with half the cheeseburger, he dropped the beer and bit off the other half of the burger when I made contact with the family jewels.

People like that don't need to reproduce anyway.


It was another early morning when a girl walked in, obviously rolling. "Don't judge me!" She shouted over and over as I watched her pick up her necessities. A bag of hard candy, a bottle of gatorade, and a Vick's inhaler. When she hit the counter she pulled a five dollar bill out of her purse. When I unrolled it...powder flew everywhere.

I handed her the change. "Are you just going to leave all that there," I asked, I thought sarcastically, "you must have enough for another line." She surveyed the counter, and slipped her ID out of her pocket and began scraping the dust into a neat little line...turning the key pad for debit cards over so that the powder that had settled there too, would fall on the counter. "Hey," she said, "lemme hold that bill I just gave you for a minute."


Finally, I leave you with this one. After all of the above incidents, the one that I found myself in trouble for was innocent. A police officer was in the store, as was customary on his shift, when it was quiet, he would wander in to shoot the shit.

The topic of the night was tattoos. "I have an amazing tiger tattoo," he said.

"Really? I do too!" I enthused.

"Well, where is yours?" he wanted to know. I told him it was on my chest, and he acknowledged that his was in the same place. He pulled at his vest, "can you see it?" I couldn't though.

He started to unbutton his shirt and proceeded to take off his vest so I could see his ink. I was in shock, his tat and mine were just about identical, though on different scales. I unbuttoned half of my shirt and undid the clasp on my bra so that I could, somewhat demurely, show him my tattoo.

At that point, I walked around the counter and started to stock the cooler, and he followed me, chatting more about tattoos as I got some work done. Show and tell was over.

I thought nothing of it until they gave me a written reprimand...turns out there weren't any cameras in the back of the store, and when two people walk off camera after beginning to undress, the obvious conclusion isn't a shared love of all things feline...or maybe it is.


Thanks for putting up with my stroll down memory lane. I hope I haven't embarrassed you, and that at least a couple of you chuckled. I for one am glad that I finally wrote these things down, when I'm old(er) and gray(er) it will be nice to look back and laugh, because truth is always stranger than fiction.


  1. Those were hysterical! Thanks for sharing.

  2. Viv, you are a brave woman. Funny and brave.

  3. These were great Viv. I hope you have these wrote down in a journal somewhere! lolol

  4. Absolutely hysterical! I laughed very hard. My favorite is the baby powdered stick to the loser thief. Classic. Your stories remind me of some of the stuff I got to see when I worked at a day shelter for homeless women in DC. Too funny...

  5. Now I want to see the tattoo! I love little stories.