(I’m a female. When I am 17, I work night shifts at a gas station. Sexual harassment is common, but this exchange sticks out for being as baffling as it is creepy.)
Male Customer: “Can I get a two packs of [Brand] cigarettes?”
(Being silly, I stand one pack up straight on the counter and stack the other one sideways on top of it.)
Male Customer: “Well, if you can do that with those, I can’t wait to see what you can do with your legs!’
(There’s nothing I love more than getting yelled at by crazy old men for things that A) aren’t my fault, B) I can’t change, and C) have been this way since before I was born. Most gas stations, if you haven’t noticed, charge a bit of a premium for credit card use. This is because the banks themselves charge us for when people use credit cards; the premium helps to defray some of that cost. This premium has been in place for decades now, and 99% of gas stations have that premium. Those that don’t make up for it by just setting their prices higher. This somehow didn’t make it through to the geezer who runs up to my window, brandishing his receipt like it’s one of Wonka’s golden tickets.)
Customer: “YOU CHANGE PRICE! Say $2.31! Why change?! YOU CHANGE!”
Me: “Sir, $2.31 is the credit card price. $2.21 is the cash price listed on the sign.”
Customer: “WHERE SAY?”
Me: “On every pump, sir. The credit card price is listed there.”
Customer: “No, it wasn’t! Show me!”
(I lead him to a pump and point.)
Me: “Right there, sir. Every pump lists the credit price.”
Customer: “NO GOOD! IS CHANGE! YOU LIE!”
(By this time, I’m a bit fed up.)
Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. Can I help you with anything else?”
(Kill them with kindness, right? With a huff, he let out a final “F*** YOU,” jumped in his van, and peeled out of the parking lot at something like 40 miles an hour. I have to say, I wish him luck. We’re the cheapest gas station for three miles, and every other gas station in the county has the same premium.)
(I work at a gas station that has an air pump owned by a different company. It costs $1 in quarters for about four minutes. They basically rent the space from our corporate office.)
Customer: “You need to give me a receipt for the $1.50 I had to spend on air from your machine so I can get reimbursed from my boss!”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t own the machine. They rent the space from our corporate office.”
Customer: “But it’s on your property! You’re making a sale! And I need a receipt so I can get my money back from my boss!”
Me: “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. I cannot give you a receipt, as it’s not ours to give.”
Customer: “So, you’re making a cash sale with no record?!”
Me: “We didn’t make a sale; the other company did.”
Customer: “Well, surely you can appreciate my situation? I need a receipt to give my boss so I can get my money back.”
Me: *sighs* “There’s a number on the machine you can call.”
Customer: “I guess I’ll have to do that!” *storms out*
(Yes, he was seriously flipping his s*** over getting reimbursed for $1.50!)
(I pump gas at a full-service gas station at a time when gas costs between a buck and a buck-fifty. A crusty geezer comes in and gripes about prices.)
Customer: “When I was your age, gas cost 17 cents a gallon!”
Me: “Yes, sir.”
Customer: *continues b****ing about gas price* “…17 cents a gallon!”
Me: “Sir, when you were my age, how long did it take to earn 17 cents?”
Customer: *grumbles under breath and walks away*
This story is part of the Millennials Roundup!
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(My husband and I stop at a gas station on a trip to the beach. We both decide to use the restrooms. The doors on the individual stalls have unusually large — to me — gaps at the bottom, at least a foot high. While I am in one of the stalls, a woman comes up and tries to open the door.)
Me: “Occupied.”
Woman #1: *bangs on the door* “Somebody in there?”
Me: “Yes.”
Woman #1: *bangs again* “Helloooo?”
Me: “YES, OCCUPIED!”
(The woman bends down and peers under the door, not just looking at my feet, but she actually makes eye contact with me!)
Woman #1: “Oh. There’s someone in this one.” *to someone else* “This one’s being used.”
(She walks away and goes to the stall beside me. Another woman comes up and looks under again, this time without knocking or anything.)
Woman #2: “Oh, yeah. This one, too.”
Woman #1: “No, that’s the one I just told you about!”
Woman #2: “Oh.”
(When I left the stall, the second woman was still waiting. As I passed her, she huffed and said, “Finally,” under her breath. I wasn’t in there for more than five minutes! When I told my husband about my encounter, he said I should have winked at the women since they were so intent on seeing me.)
