Sunday, August 13, 2006

No Man Is Gas Island

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Seize the day.---Horace
Seven hours humping beer and soda cases; scrubbing floors, sidewalks and gas pumps; counting cigarettes, filling propane tanks, selling gas, bagging groceries, fronting shelves, smiling at assholes, showing little old ladies how to pump gas, emptying trash, breaking down cardboard boxes, sweeping, filling bags with ice, running the boogeyman beggars off the gas islands and mopping, mopping, mopping.
That's a lot of work on a holiday for $43.50 minus taxes. Better be losing weight.
Got two turkey dinners today: one from Broke Fingers (aka the night man Day, a co-worker named Day who works the graveyard shift) and another one from a customer. I think they appreciate how I have run the most vicious of the panhandlers off the gas islands (where they scare the crap out of the customers using the old Intimidation Bum scam) and they want to keep my strength up.
Turkey on a paper plate gingerly wrapped in aluminum foil: how folksy.
My crack motel roommate Creepy ate at the Sizzler today. He made a special trip over to my workplace to let me know this. Creepy visits the Arco daily to check up on me and brag about some fine meal he’s had on a movie set where he was 'working' as an extra or at the El Camino Community College where he majors in Financial Aid.

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