Robbing The Store And Their Will To Care

I briefly worked at a gas station. I say “briefly” because I was robbed three times in my six months.

On the third robbery, the guy comes in and appears to point a gun through his jacket at me.

Me: *Raising my hands* “Chill. I’ll give you what you want.”

Robber: “Give me all the money in the drawer.”

I only have $30, and he gets pissed that that’s all he’s getting.

Robber: “That’s it?!”

Me: “Why not just take a bunch of cartons of cigarettes?”

Robber: “What?”

Me: “A single carton is more than $30.”

Robber: “Why are you telling me this?”

Me: “I just work here; I don’t care what you take.”

He takes his hand out of his pocket, leaving the gun (if he has one, but I don’t feel like finding out) in the pocket.

Robber: “You really don’t give a f*** what I take?”

Me: “Nah, I really don’t.”

Robber: “Okay. Give me all the cartons you can.”

Me: *Starting to grab them* “Do you want a bag with that?”

Robber: *Confused* “Uh… sure.”

I give him a bag. He stuffs about ten cartons into the two bags, apologizes, and runs out. Then, I call the cops.

My coworker, who was hiding in the back, comes out.

Coworker: “You really gave him advice on how to steal from us?”

Me: *Shrugging* “I’m not dying for this gas station.”

I quit that night. I was tired of being robbed.