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A few stories from my roommate the Wicked Gingersnap, who works in a glass box and sells gasoline and cigarettes to morons:
The hamster in your head just died:
The scene: A small, bored goth sits in herfiefdom glass box, book in hand, hoping her shift will end soon. Enter teenager with a lobotomy, who has the approximate IQ of toast. She chooses the post pay option on the pump. While she is pumping, her boyfriend walks up and gives Ginger ten dollars. Mind you, the pump cannot to be set to pre-pay, as it is already activated. Lobotomy girl pumps to $10.21 and stops. Ginger has no issue with this, as if she must she could cover it from an overflowing change dish.
But no... Lobotomy girl, to all appearances, decides to fill her tank instead, to the tune of $37.02. She then throws a fit to her boyfriend about how she will not pay because the pump did not stop. (Remember folks, she stopped the pump and started it again.) Apparently, she assumed the magical gas fairy would pay for the rest. Ginger locks eyes on the car, preparing for a driveoff.
Lobotomy girl is not finished! She notes Ginger's eagle eyes and walks to the window, proceeding to complain that she kept pumping because "it was supposed to stop" and asked why Ginger had failed to pre-set the pump. Only when confronted with the fact that she had not asked for a pre-set pump did she she confess that she had no more money. And the kicker... she came back and tried to pay with a personal check, which the pumps clearly indicated via signs are not accepted.
Sorry, I left my rosary and cassock at home:
This box is not a confessional. Why, then, do people insist on baring their souls to its occupant? Ginger reports having heard of the woes of failed marriages, psychotic girlfriends, nasty divorce suits, and more propositions than she can count. Do retail workers have a saintly glow visible only to the desperate? The world may never know.
The hamster in your head just died:
The scene: A small, bored goth sits in her
But no... Lobotomy girl, to all appearances, decides to fill her tank instead, to the tune of $37.02. She then throws a fit to her boyfriend about how she will not pay because the pump did not stop. (Remember folks, she stopped the pump and started it again.) Apparently, she assumed the magical gas fairy would pay for the rest. Ginger locks eyes on the car, preparing for a driveoff.
Lobotomy girl is not finished! She notes Ginger's eagle eyes and walks to the window, proceeding to complain that she kept pumping because "it was supposed to stop" and asked why Ginger had failed to pre-set the pump. Only when confronted with the fact that she had not asked for a pre-set pump did she she confess that she had no more money. And the kicker... she came back and tried to pay with a personal check, which the pumps clearly indicated via signs are not accepted.
Sorry, I left my rosary and cassock at home:
This box is not a confessional. Why, then, do people insist on baring their souls to its occupant? Ginger reports having heard of the woes of failed marriages, psychotic girlfriends, nasty divorce suits, and more propositions than she can count. Do retail workers have a saintly glow visible only to the desperate? The world may never know.
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