(Our gas station has a deal with the pizza shop next door that their delivery drivers may pump their gas, then come in and pay, rather than paying at the pump or coming in to pre-pay. Sometimes drivers will wait until they have some cash tips to come in and pay, which is fine with us as long as they pay before the end of the night. About an hour before close one night, one of the delivery drivers fills up, then leaves on his delivery.)

Coworker: “Hey, what’s this gas on pump one?”

Me: That’s [Driver]. I’m sure he’ll be back to pay after he makes his delivery.”

(Fifteen minutes pass and our register starts chiming the “drive off alert” bell. This bell then proceeds to go off every five minutes after that.)

Me: *half an hour after the driver has pumped his gas* “I’m going to call [Pizza Shop] and ask if [Driver] forgot he pumped his gas… That bell is driving me nuts!

(I call the pizza shop and ask for the manager.)

Manager: “How can I help you?”

Me: “This is [My Name] at [Gas Station]. [Driver] got gas earlier and hasn’t come in to pay yet; can you send him over?”

Manager: “He’s on a delivery, but I’ll send him over as soon as he gets back. Sorry about that.”

Me: “No worries. I just want to get it cleared before closing. Thank you.”

(Another twenty minutes pass. It is now ten minutes from closing, and my coworker and I have gone from laughing about “the madness of the bells” to being actually angry at the driver for taking so long to pay. He finally stomps in.)

Driver: “HERE!” *slams money down on counter* “And I hope you’re happy that I’m going to be late getting out tonight because I had to stop what I was doing and come over here!” *stomps back outside*

(Prices for all our cigarettes have recently gone up, averaging about eighty cents a carton. Of course we had signs posted for a few weeks before it went into effect. In my gas station, we also have a food area where I am currently scheduled to work. I decide to cut through the front area to get some things quicker.)

Customer: “I need two packs of cigarettes. What are your cheapest brands?”

Me: “It’s [Brand]. I think with the new tax it’s [price].”

Customer: *huffy* “Well, I only have twelve dollars! And I need two packs and some gas!”

Me: “Would you like to pump your gas first, then? If you don’t have enough, maybe you’ve got some quarters hanging around.”

Customer: “No! I need two packs of cigarettes! Your prices are too high! You need to fix this!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we can’t change the prices.”

Customer: “You have to do something to fix this! I need my smokes!”

(I always thought enough gas to get going was more important than smoking, but apparently not.)

(My car’s gas gauge is wonky, and one time my car unexpectedly runs out of gas while on the road, around early afternoon. Luckily, traffic is sparse and I am in my neighborhood, maybe 100 feet from a gas station. I manage to park on the side of the street, fish my empty gas can out of the backseat, and walk the 100 feet across an intersection to the gas station. As I’m crouching down near one of the pumps, filling up the gas can, some dude suddenly looms right over my head. I can see his pickup truck with its door open parked right behind him; it’s obvious he’s not an employee here. It’s just as obvious that he’s not here to get gas, himself.)

Dude: “Uh… so… Um-hmm…”

(I ignore him and pretend to be terribly busy. Nothing good has EVER come to me from talking to strange men.)

Dude: *inching even closer to me* “Uhh… Um-HEM! HI! HELLO! MISS!”

(I sigh. Clearly he’s not going away.)

Me: *side-eyeing him* “Yes?”

Dude: *suggestively* “Soooo… I just saw you walking down the street with your gas can while I was driving.”

(There is a very expectant pause while he’s staring at me hard enough that it’s almost like he’s attempting hypnosis. Already knowing where this is going, I put on a sweet, condescending tone of voice and a fake smile.)

Me: “That’s great for you!”

(I immediately dropped the smile and turned away from him again. He was somewhat flustered at this, but wouldn’t you just know it – he persisted in repeatedly offering me “a ride” to my car, anyway. Shockingly, I said no. Several times over. He finally left, with extreme reluctance. I have a very high skepticism that it’s even possible he didn’t see how close my car was parked, but frankly, even if I had to walk 100 miles instead of 100 feet, I’d never have agreed to get into his truck. 100 feet! That’s how little it takes to have a creep notice you walking alone down a street and decide to follow you in his car!)

(I work at a gas station in a small town, so we see a lot of regulars — in this case, two Hispanic men. They walk in and start talking to each other in Spanish as I’m ringing up an older woman.)

Customer: “Can you believe these Mexicans? They come here illegally, take all our jobs, and leave none for us real Americans.”

(She goes off on a rant, and the two regulars are standing behind her listening to every word she says. One shakes his head at me calmly and I keep quiet.)

Customer: “…and they don’t even speak English.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s too bad. Here’s your change. Have a nice day!”

(She is nearly out the door when one of the regulars stops her.)

Regular: *in fluent English* “Excuse me, miss! You left your cigarettes on the counter.”

(He goes to hand them to her, and she looks like she’s about to pass out from either rage or embarrassment. She turns and leaves without taking her cigarettes.)

Me: “Way to handle a bad situation. I was ready to kick her out.”

Regular: “I don’t think she was right in the head. She needs a doctor, not a scene… And I got a free pack of cigarettes.”

For some reason, scammers and beggars see me as a soft touch.

I was standing inside my favorite gas station, chatting with the workers, when I saw a young couple outside having an intense conversation and repeatedly looking in at me. Then, the man nodded to the woman and walked inside. He had some money clenched in his hand.

I stepped back so he could deal with the cashier I’d been chatting with. He dropped the money on the counter and asked for that amount to be prepaid on his pump. He kept glancing at me as he made a point of counting out less than two dollars, asking how much that would buy, and lamenting that it wouldn’t be enough gas to get where he needed to go.

I only smiled at him.

His girlfriend rushed in exclaiming that she’d found thirteen cents in the car. Then, she started giving me sideways glances.

I just smiled.

Finally, they broke down and asked outright if I could help.

I smiled, explained that I don’t carry cash, and had to interrupt his suggestion that I use my credit card to fill their tank to say, “Maybe that twenty hanging out of your pocket could help you out.”

The couple rushed out, leaving their handful of change on the counter. The cashier and I had a good laugh.