i went to the gas station filled out an application and was hired immediately. i could tell why, all the help there were mostly stoned teenagers standing around stealing and smoking cigarettes. i asked for the evening shift, 4pm to midnight. they put me on it right away, i started saturday night. it was so fucking easy i couldn't believe it, working the lotto machine, stocking beer, running the register. i just stood up front ringing people up. when there were no customers id go stock or sweep the parking lot. one night the manager approached me.
"you're overqualified for this job and you're the only good employee i have. why the fuck do you work here?"
"went through a tragedy and didn't want to work with computers any more. wanted something simple and easy, where there are no cubicles, or tall buildings. this job is easy, i just coast right through it, i don't make as much money, but at least i'm not having any flashbacks."
he went into the office and brought out a six pack and set it on the counter. store was closed, i was just counting register and cigarettes.
"during my shift i go through about six or seven beers, i've got a little refrigerator in my office. nobody asks, nobody tells. i know you're a drinking man, i can tell one a mile away. you work like a maniac, you're always doing something. that means you're always thinking about drinking. you don't exactly need 100% of your brain power to work this job."
i took one of his bottles of coors light and drained it in a couple of gulps.
"now that's what i like to see. if you want to keep your own six pack in the refrigerator in my office, here's a key. put it on your keychain."
i did, and he went back into his office. i finished what i was doing, and left, walking into the hot summer night, with thumping rap music, the sound of sirens, and the smell of frying hamburgers and pot. that night i drank miller light without the jack daniels, even though i had a fifth yet. i felt good, i just felt good. the heat was making me sweat, and i sat on my front porch listening to the post game show. the rangers had demolished the indians, in fact, swept the whole damn series.
i hated the rangers almost as much as i hated the yankees. i walked into the house after the broadcast was over and turned on the news. there was news of three holdups and a shooting in the area where i worked. the next day, when i went to work, i was ready to die. i knew he would come.
he came about 11pm and i could tell it was him. he was homeless, ragged, stoned, drunk, and set three fifths of jack on the counter. he then went and got a case of miller high life and set it on the table. i began ringing him up. when i was finished he asked for a carton of newports. i smiled like the mona lisa as i read off the total. 74.67$.
"and put the money in the bag and pass it across the counter."
"no."
"what the fuck you mean no."
"i mean when there's a holdup we are instructed not to give over the money, but wait for the manager to dispatch a call to the local police and have them sent to the store in question to arrest the perpetrator."
"are you fucking kidding me?"
he grabbed my hand and slammed it into the register.
"nope, sorry.", i said, then turned my face away and frowned.
"motherfucker i will shoot you in your fucking face now open that register and give me the motherfucking money!"
by now the manager was in his office drunk and loading his six shooter with shells, in two minutes he would be standing in the store pointing the gun at the "perp".
"i've told you the procedure, now please wait pleasantly to be arrested and assraped by an obese black crack addict."
he tried to pistol whip me but i ducked. then he tried to punch me but i dodged it. by now i was bored.
"JUST SHOOT ME YOU FUCKING JUNKY! GET IT OVER WITH!"
he looked at me stunned. the manager stood behind him and pointed a gun at the robber's skull. he shot and fired, but the gun exploded in his hand. fingers and the mangled gun fell to the floor, and the gunman spun around. he was so furious that someone might dare to fight back that he started firing his pistol at the manager. a shot in his side, in his gut, his chest, his face. the manager spun around spurting blood and then fell quivering to the floor. i was so pissed that he killed the manager and not me that i grabbed one of the fifths of jd and smashed it over his skull. he dropped the pistol and it went off shattering a cooler door and sending beercans spinning around and foaming on the floor. he stumbled towards the door and out into the street. i grabbed the other two fifths in my hands and followed him.
"hey i thought you wanted the money out of the register ya' fuckin' crackhead. where are you going? going to put your fuckin' kids to bed?" i smashed another one of the fifths over his skull. he screamed, stumbled, fell got up, kept walking. "you're a real high roller, shit, three fifths of jack and a case of high life, what are you, a pimp or a dopeboy?" i smashed the other fifth over his head, and then pulled down his pants and grinded the broken head of the bottle into his asshole between his asscheeks as hard as i could, ripping apart the tender flesh of his rectum. he shrieked, walked about thirty feet, then fell into a pile of garbage cans and lay writhing on the street. about five minutes later the police arrived and arrested him. by then i was gone. i had taken a fifth of jack for myself out of the cooler for myself and was walking up the turnpike, disrupting traffic, taking swigs as i walked. soon i was walking down the middle of the expressway. cars swerved left and right to miss me, and i hated them for that. i walked down the center of the expressway, swilling the jack, with my shirt off. cars honked wildly and men screamed at me from open windows. after about an hour, i got pissed i hadn't been hit yet, drained the last of the bottle, and wandered through traffic and swerving cars into a patch of trees where i laid on a pile of leaves, and fell asleep.
i woke up and put my shirt on, then walked out of the woods, hungover, to the shoulder of the highway where i walked home and took a shower. i regretted what i had done, and shocked that i hadn't been arrested. after my shower i put a frozen pizza in the oven and cracked open a molson xxx. took a long gulp and sat down, flipping on the tv to news footage of me walking down the highway without my shirt on drinking jack daniels. someone had videotaped me. i burst out laughing, and quickly changed the channel. fuckin' local news. had a few more beers, pizza then i took a nap, woke up and got dressed, shaved, made myself look presentable then drove to the gas station. it was closed. i unlocked it, opened it up, turned everything on. ran the register as customers came in. i had a worker scheduled to come in two hours. he'd probably come in stoned so i would make him drink some coffee and then sweep the parking lot to work off his buzz so he could run the register. the day went well, a representative came in and made me store manager. i wasn't too happy about that. that day i hired a new man and had help in the morning. there was no assistant manager so i ended up working 16 hour days. in all i had six clerks, all of which drank and smoked pot before they came in. they sat around, stole, gave free shit to their friends. sometimes they would leave the store while on the clock to get burger king, smoke more pot, or drink a stolen 22oz can of beer behind some building somewhere. i couldn't fire them because those types of people were the only kind of help i could get. eventually i had to give someone else the key, and there ended up being a huge party at the gas station on my night off where the clerks let everyone who came in drink free beer, cigarettes, and food. they smoked pot, blasted music. i walked into the aftermath, threw my key into the pile of empty crushed beercans and teenagers passed out on the floor. i quit.
i walked down to the street, sick to my stomach. all the bums, the businessmen, the cashiers, the teenagers with their pants at their ass high wolfing down cheap snacks. they all made me sick. but i was addicted to the streets, being out in the shit of everyday life. the suffering, the drama and the bullshit. things had to be happening in my life or the dreams and the flashbacks would come back. i couldn't have that. i stopped at a hot dog cart and got a couple of hot dogs. onions and mustard. sat watching the hot dog vendor while eating. when i was finished, i felt better, and went to talk to the vendor.
"say, how much do you make a day out here?"
"shit man, about 50-60$."
"that's not bad. how much did you have to pay for this cart?"
"you get it from nathan's franks down on third, it costs 300$ and they supply you with your first load of dogs. then after you sell them you pay them back at the end of the week. it's kind of like paying rent. you keep the rest of the cash and they give you a 75$ a week check for selling them."
"sounds great, maybe ill go down there."
"cool, just don't compete with me, this should be a laid back business, shit, this ain't the stock market."
"yeah i know, i wont compete with you. I'll find my own places."
the next day i got myself a cart and began to work the streets, peddling into crowds, waiting outside tall buildings at noon, through the city, going the opposite direction when i saw another vendor. no need for any of these men to be crowded, most of them had families. like the vendor said, i was making between 50-60$ a day, plus the 75$ check. i loved the taste of the nathan's franks, and got to bullshit with tons of people. i was out deep in the thick of it, and the best part was, i wasn't supervised, i had no underlings, and all robbers knew that i had so little money that i wasn't worth robbing. one day, i met a woman, pale, with jaundice, skinny as a rail.
"i bet you meet alot of people out here."
"i sure do. why, you don't meet many people?"
"not many people want to talk to me."
"why's that?"
"oh, just the way i look."
she looked down, at her feet.
"i think you're very pretty."
she looked up at me, smiling.
"i live in a trailer, a few miles away. i've got a grill, if you ever want to bring some of these hot dogs over, i've got two kids too- "
she stopped, looked afraid.
"give me your number, I'll give you a call."
she beamed, and wrote down the number on a napkin, walking away, looking over her shoulder. i folded up the napkin, and slid it into my back pocket. i felt sad, confused. i decided to take another route. i was in a black neighborhood when a bunch of thugs started asking me for hot dogs. i told them they had to pay and that's when they got upset.
"since when do we have to pay you for food when you're in our neighborhood?"
"since the 1800's."
"give us some fucking hotdogs or well kick your ass!"
they were furious, young kids.
"how about i just expose my cock to you and you can have that for free. that way you can have dreams about how big yours will be when you reach my age!
i exposed myself to them and they erupted, beating me senseless, slamming my face into my cart, overturning my cart, beating me to the ground. then they spraypainted my face black, and then my genitals, black. after that, they ran away. i left my cart, and took off my pants. then i walked, spray painted black, through the black neighborhoods. black older women and men turned their heads in shame. one vomited. i was seen by everyone, everyone knew what had happened to me. i was satisfied that i was able to make the parents of my attackers vomit. i was accepted by the police at the outskirts of the town, they questioned me but never caught the attackers. i laughed at my victory as i lay spraypainted in my house swilling beers, in between bouts of crying, watching the television.
