The old Volkswagen creaked next to the pump. Lucky number seven, I thought to myself with a smile. Wonder when she’ll call back, came next with a frown and a quick glance at my phone. We were texting for so long- and what a back and forth it was! Then no answer, no call back. Doesn’t make sense.
Stupid…only I could try to push open an automatic sliding door. Bright, Jesus! So goddamn bright in here. And the fucking white walls and yellow signs with the neon green writing do not help at all. “Hot Coffee,” great sign. What if I want it cold? Maybe just the coffee grounds, or beans even. Curious. Three people on line in front of me, let’s do some math. Forty-three dollars in my pocket, it’s Tuesday- two days til payday. Where does it all go? Ten in the tank now- more than enough gas for work today and tomorrow…what an ass on her. Is she old enough? Probably not, but fuck it. Damn. I love Spanish women, how come I never go for them? Or is it that they never go for me? Math, right. Meeting Jay at 9, need tens for that, shit, I need a Dutch then- that’ll be $12.50 here, plus the ten for Jay, twenty bucks left. Not bad, maybe even a dub for myself tomorrow. Either that or a lap dance anyway; not like I’d be able to cover the cover. Haha, cover the cover, I slay me.
What the fuck is taking so long? I had to side-step the fat bastard in front of me to see the counter. The man at the front of the line looks like he’s mid-aneurysm; running his hands through and pulling the few strands of gray hair left on the top of his head. Big red nose and bigger gold-rimmed eye-glasses. He’s exceptionally tall, maybe 6’5”, and incredibly whiney for a grown man. There are two Middle Eastern men working, but both helping the same douchebag? This is absurd. Their clothes were absurd, actually. Yellow and green, to go along with the signs I suppose, looks like someone yaked all over these poor chodes. They had silver name badges- Mushtaq and Shasul. This is fucking painful, why the fuck do they both need to help this jerkstain?
Breathe, who cares, you’re waiting on line in a fucking gas station. Where do you have to go anyway. Right.
“I just want to use my credit card on the pump, why won’t it let me use my credit card on the pump?!” The guy at the front of the line was starting to get heated now.
“Sir, I already told you, when you enter the wrong zip code at the pump it does not allow you to pump the gas.”
“This is ludicrous; you’re telling me that I can’t use my credit card here at all now?”
“No sir, you just can’t use it at the pump.”
“Then what do you need me to do?” He turned to the Spanish chick with the sweet ass behind him, “I don’t get it, why does everything have to be so difficult in this place?”
“Sir. Sir…”
“You know, it’s not so hard, every gas station I go to I use my card at the pump. I swipe it, it goes through, I pump the gas, I go home, or wherever I’m going for that matter. Anywhere but the gas station…”
“Excuse me, sir-“
“What? What? What do I have to do, would you tell me already!”
“I just need to see your ID and I can swipe your card here.”
“Well why didn’t you just say that…”
Uggh. This isn’t even worth listening to anymore. Schmuck probably put the wrong zip code in on purpose to cry about it to everyone in the store. Ruin Shasul’s night and bitch and moan to everyone who doesn’t care and will never even see him again. Thanks, you big-nosed faggot.
“Rita, mami’s not done shopping yet, let the next man go ahead of you.” I turned my head to the voice- sweet ass chick’s mom and her seven other kids. Well two, but the rest are probably packed into a 1993 Dodge Caravan outside.
The fat fuck waddled to the counter and Rita moved in front of me. We caught eyes for a second. Ooooh, smile, nice. Did she just look at my dick? I feel like whenever I wear sweatpants in public every underage twat’s got her eyes on my cock. Not that I mind I guess. And I’ve probably spent half of these last eternal fucking five minutes staring at her gorgeous butt. Goddamn, you’d need two hands to grab that thing.
Are these fucking towelheads still just helping one person at a time?! What the fuck, man.
BANG! BA-BOOOM!
I spun around quick to see Rita’s mami and two younger children standing next to the collision. “Pedro!” She screamed at the youngest. Mushtaq and Shasul look heartbroken. The fat guy weeble wobbled his way past me and Rita- wheow shit-fuck what a smell. Are all 300+ pound people incapable of reaching underneath their balls when they shower, Jesus fucking Christ.
Shasul slowly made his way out from behind the counter, shaking his head the whole walk over. Releasing a pathetic sigh, he bent over and picked up one of the damaged Entenman’s boxes. The little prick had somehow managed to destroy an entire pastry rack; and the cookies had since crumbled all over the floor. Cakes, cookies, sticky buns, bundts, boxes and metal shelves lay in a heap on the green and white tiles.
“Next please, sir…” Mushtaq said politely.
“Vanilla Dutch and ten on seven, please.”
