july 5th, 2002

a middle aged business man type guy walked in the store last night, and stopped to contemplate the ice cream. I took no notice of him, he was just another ant marching in search of food. Until he started talking to himself. A lot.

It wasn't just random mumbling... it was a full, one sided conversation, about nothing in particular, least of all what he was browsing in the store.  I watched him walk around aimless, talking loudly, for about 10 minutes, at which time he made his way to my counter... where he continued to jabber.

what the hell.

then I noticed the microscopic cell phone headset attatched to his ear.

fuck.

july 6th, 2002

I just worked 11pm - 7am. Haven't slept in over 24 hours. The Esso was unbelievabley quiet last night, so I decided I should take that time to write. I make bad decisions sometimes. Here's my delerious journal.

12:25am
I'm bored out of my face so I decided to keep a journal of this most likely uneventful night. So far, the only exciting thing that happened was some guy tried to buy $5.04 of gas and his bank card got declined. Allriiight.

12:39am
Jon Gillis just came in and got lots of licorice.

12:41am
I'm making the most potent coffee on the face of the planet. Tall, creamy, and thick with millions of sugar packets.

12:55am
Sarah Lecky came in with Carolyn MacDougall and Krystle MacDonald, and I caught up on some juicy gossip with her. I like dropping people's names all over my webpage. I'm now drinking the coffee, and it feels like there's a hummingbird in m head. 6 more hours to go!

3:07am
Sabrina just hung out here for 2 hours, and killed me loads of time. Applause for sabrina. My shift is half over. I'm coming down off my caffeine high, and it kind of hurts. A lot.  My stomach wants to kill me, and is holding my bladder hostage. FUCK!

4:00am
CHOCOLATE. My brain is melting. I just ate a creamsicle that was probably older than me.
Things I want to do:
- cut off my disgusting long hair and dye it dark again.
-- not waste a single moment. Fill my days with things worth writing about, instead of sitting on my ass writing about things.
- take more time to relax, instead of obsessivelt worrying about how I'm spending every minute.
- stop contradicting myself.
- climb on the roofs of as many buildings as possible.
- destory myself after I just sat and contemplated writing "rooves".
- rebuild decaying friendships.
- break off half hearted accquaintanceships that are painful for both parties.
- break my rule of not talking to someone because of my loathing of pointless, superficial conversation.  I am very negative towards people, and underestimate the majority. From now on I'm going to interact with people honestly, and try to draw out some fort of life from them. (more about this later).
- learn to express myself a whole hell of a lot better than that last paragraph.
- strengthen my vocabulary.
- delete old emails.
- stop wriiting like a fool.

5:01am
Every taxi driver in charlottetown comes here. I smell KFC. Barf. I'm noticing my handwriting and how it keeps changing from sentence to sentence. Is that a sign of something? Or am I just on crack? I'd say the latter, due to Esso's high supply of illegal drugs. You know. I've been listening to Magic 93 for 6 hours and I want to die. Time to fill up the pop cooler.

5:28am
I smoke some Pop-Eye cigarettes. I'm a rebel. Without a cause.  There are two crows perched on the black power line cutting perfectly across the water colour pink sky. It's pretty. My foot is itchy. I should be drunk.
One crow left n the power line. It swooped, and intersected an seagull's path. You want to know this sutff, right? Of course.

5:40am
I'm realizing I really like making lists and idiotic little chronological accounts like this. That is completely contradictory to my disorganized and forgetful nature. Or perhaps because of it.
I like things neat, but I forget where I put them away.
I want people to take me seriously, but I don't want to be serious.
I want to go play in that mist across thje road, but I'm at FUCKING ESSO. DIE.

6:09am
Ohmygod. oh god. I can't last the next hour. I'm going to puke or maybe just keel over. Yeah, I still have to walk home. This is hilarious. I hope I ffall asleep/pass out.
Geoff MacMillan, do you work here now??? WTF?? Your name is on yhe sschedule. See you tomorrow night. We used to call geoff "Rob's Brother".
ANYWAY.
I'm going to curl up in a corner now. See you in the afternoon.

the end. pi'm going to BED. please please please please please please plase plse plk call and wake me up a little later. around 12 or 1. pleease

my eyes are closssing.. eyes to teje fucking SKY>

july 24th, 2002

Yesterday I watched an old lady steal a 50 cent postcard. She looked at me. I looked at her. She glanced at the postcard she was holding, and flicked her eyes toward her purse.  Gazing around the store with her bug-eyed gigantic sunglasses, she called her husband over for a second, effectively making him block my view of her very obvious shoplifting. They both hurried out of the store.

Smooth. Very smooth. But it was 50 CENTS. Two quarters that she probably could have found inside the folds of her sweater. Unless she needed them to give to her grandchildren or something. god.

But anyway. it's summerside time!! we're doing GHetto Summerside Part II. So far it's only me, Sharlene and a little bit of braided hair.  Where's the rest of the team?

august 25th, 2002

The pockets of two pairs of my jeans are filled with scraps of paper, covered in quickly jotted down abbreviations and phrases; just idiotic little things that come to my mind at work, that I will instantly forget if I don't make them somehow permanent.

and I left them all at my apartment.

so... I'll do my best. WEIRD SHIT THAT KEEPS HAPPENING AT WORK:

- For the past couple days, a hearse out of some bad metal rockstar's nightmare has been filling up at the Esso. It's white.  Not just white: it's a station wagon from the 80's, with a plastic black cap screwed on in ridiculous contrast.  There are bright purple curtains in the windows, and cheesy orange and yellow flames along the sides, outlined in purple. Yes, flames. On a hearse.  The defining detail: across the side in huge, scripty, and purple (what else?) letters is "Roaring towards death", or "Racing towards death", or something of that variation. It doesn't really matter what it says. Its purple. And scripty. And on a hearse. A very nondescript old man comes in to pay for the gas. $5. every time.

WTF? Call this guy when I die.

- Man in cowboy hat came in with nice beige shirt. Logo read: "HC". Three guesses as to what this meant. You're probably right. "HARDCORE COWBOY." And I fell in love.

- Crazy Fucking Guy #1 from a previous post returned, with even more casual pick up lines. They weren'y as blunt as "You're hot," but were pretty fucking direct. "You have nice hands... wanna give me a back massage?" No thanks, here's a fork.

He also said, "I'm reading your pin. It says, 'Ask me about Speedpass. So. I'm asking." After I went to the trouble of unenthusiastically explaining what the hell Speedpass was, he replied,

"Oh. I thought that was when a guy tries to grab you really quickly."

and he left.

next, time I need to have a tape recorder ready. this guy is a fucking nutcase.

that's all for now. my memory is shot. sharlene is here, so we're going to go fuck shit up. or go out for supper. whatever.

january 11, 2003

Working at the Esso.

I had a pay-with-pennies guy too (whom I would have gladly slain in my imagination), as well as Car Craft reading dirtball, and Camaro Fucker. My favourite, however, was Condom Guy.

At least two or three times a week, this guy would come running into the store, heading towards the condoms like a homing missle. When I say running, I actually MEAN running. Sprinting. At full speed.

Out of breath, red-faced, and sweaty, he would throw the condoms on the counter, and ask "How much?" as he picked through the lint and loose change from his pockets. $2.34. Every time. He'd usually flick a loonie and two quarters at me, shove the box (of three) in his pocket, and sprint off out the door without saying a word. All business.

Yeah, two or three times a week. This guy got some serious action. But why the hell couldn't he just buy a whole damn big box and keep them in his drawer under the porn magazines?

I think I saw him at Myrons one time, and I'm prettyyyy sure he saw me point and say, "SHIT, there's the condom guy!"

february 6th, 2003

I went to work tonight. I managed to make my cash short $586, told off a guy for trying to use a pump with two huge Out Of Order signs on it, and fostered my hate for idiots and my love for genuinely nice people. High fives to the nice people in the crowd.

- At the Esso, I work alone, in my little square behind the cash. Somtimes I wander around the store wishing I had a broom to dance with, but alas; I'm for the most part lonely.

So how the hell do I go to the bathroom? Working alone, you can sit and stare at a wall for at least 25 minutes without anyone asking if you're catatonic, but this advantage is  overidden by the fact that you can't leave your cash (or the fucking idiots pumping gas) to take a pee break.

I can.

I've mastered the art of the fast bathroom break. Not just fast - unbelievably fast. I am the road runner; the cars are wile e. coyote. I'll let you know how the results of my time trails are next week. You know you want to.

- Every taxi driver who ever drove me anywhere, ever, came in tonight and paid for their gas using toonies and nickels.

- At around 7:30 I had this terrible, all consuming urge to eat peanuts.
Me: I want peanuts! I could buy this whole bag of peanuts for 99 cents... NAH. I'll buy some Cracker Jacks.
Cracker Jacks: joke's on you, bitch. We've only got five peanuts!
Me: Fuck you, Cracker Jacks.

I love how this job gives me so much useless writing material. Now it's just a matter of  learning how to put it together into meaningful paragraphs. I'n list-dependent. In other words, I can't write anymore. It hurts my brain.

Brain: Please stop. You're hurting me.
Me: Fuck you, brain.

No, seriously. I have to stop.

march 28th, 2003

One of the buttons on my cash at work says "SELF DESTRUCT",  written on a piece of paper with ball point pen and taped onto a blank button. I noticed it before, but always assumed that was some sort of clever lingo, having to do with the gas pumps or something else complex that I don't bother with.

But tonight, I looked harder at the other buttons around it. And looked again.

They consist of: "DANGER", "PANIC", "TROUBLE", and "UH OH".

If anything bad was happening at all, why would you even choose to hit the "uh oh" button, if you had the choices of PANIC or DANGER? Maybe it's reserved for small-scale problems. Oh shit, I short changed someone. UH OH.

I'm not even going to get into tales of what could possibly happen after the button is pressed. Please make those up yourself. I'm tired.  

I have so many things to say, and no time to say them. Check back this afternoon maybe, for a huge string of unpublished posts.

june 7th, 2003

Random notes from work:

- In a moment of boredom, I wandered over to look at the wares in the ADL cooler. Milk. Milk. More milk. Cottage cheese. Sandwiches. Hmm. Sandwiches. In the year that I've been working there, I have not once seen the Sandwich Guy come in to assess his product and get rid of the old ones. Not once, even when I was working full time. Interestingly, there is always an ample supply of egg sandwich. Someone bought one about five minutes later, and I laughed. Yes, inside my head.

- Mean spirited people should not be allowed to enter convenience stores. I hate you too.

- I love how the only adjective I could come up with was "mean"

- and that had nothing to do with my shift today.

- I broke the computer for about three minutes, thus causing everyone's pump to stop working simultaneously. Also, the bank machine was out of order. Everyone hated me so, so much.

- the new guy was wearing a really long gold chain.

Anyway... enough. I've been off for three hours and I'm still reflecting on my job. If anyone is looking for me, I'll be biking downtown by myself... and then going to Baba's to see The Dears -- by myself -- because it seems that everyone is either in Halifax watching Rockets Red Glare or on Lennox Island talking to superstars. What an intense week. Yikes.

june 9 2003

more random notes from work:

- I was falling asleep on my stool when I heard someone banging around suspiciously in one of the coolers. Oh my god, the Sandwich Guy came. He exists, and I saw him. Jump in your bomb shelters, it's apocalypse time.

- two cups of coffee later and I was still falling asleep on my stool. go team sleep deprivation.

- I gave someone the most absolute worst directions ever. Ever. I told them this ridiculous route to get somewhere that was something like, "turn left then turn right then hang another left and then watch out for that dead end and then go around the bend and turn left right left." Five minutes after he walked out the door I realized that the place he wanted to go was approximately 30 seconds up the same road my work is on. Oops. A stranger hates me for life now.

- The car dealerships in the area have these guys who bring in newly sold cars to be filled up. We keep their credit cards there, and I get them ready when I see them coming. It's a nice little relationship we have. Anyway, every single one of them is named Adam. No really. Every single one. Ok, except Chris... but it's still way too many Adams. There's Metallica Shirt Adam, Baseball Hat Adam, Nervous Adam with the Glasses, and so on. You get the point. Not that there was one.

- You haven't lived until you've had a paper cut in between your fingers.

- Tried to kill time. Spent at least four minutes contemplating how I'm allergic to cats and horses. I used to have three cats. I also used to horseback ride. I also like to think about pointless shit for four minutes.

- The fabulous and beautiful manager at the McDonalds in the Esso came in wearing a suit and tie. I told him he looked "snazzy". I'm so smooth.

- As I switched a toonie for a lotto ticket with someone, the concept of buying things as "trading" became suddenly very apparent. How did such a simple idea like trading something for another thing become such an abstract and complicated process focused on one useless object? Coins. Paper bills. Can't eat them. Can't heat your shelter with them. Can't build anything with them. After wading through a sea of money and middle-men you might end up with an essential product. However, I suppose millions of inessential commodities equals an inefficient process.

- The magazine "Canadian Grocer" has really amazing design. One pixel lines separating columns - holy crap.

- and then I went home. The end.

Wait... Shannon and Sharlene are here. We're watching Canadian Idol, and you should be too. Everyone on TV is drinking Tim Hortons. Brilliant.

june 23 2003

Notes from Work v.3.0.

- I love when people walk up with three big bottles of pop and proceed to set them on the very corner of the counter farthest away from me. They stare while I stand on my toes, lean over, and disdainfully pick up each bottle and drag it to the scanner. The counter is very wide. I am very short.

- OR, when people walk up holding a bottle under their arm and look at me expectantly like I'm supposed to know exactly what they have. It's my favourite thing in the world to say in a slightly disgusted voice, "Sorry, I need to SCAN that."

- Conversely, I love when people walk up and scan their stuff with a grin [as opposed to the sarcastic use of the word "love" earlier].

- Everyone wearing a business suit insists on using their own fancy pens to sign credit card receipts. Ignoring the blue and white hotel-pen sitting on the counter two centimeters from their hand, they absolutely must reach in their pocket or fumble through a bag to get their gel-ink-roller-ball-fountain-rubber-grip-way-too-expensive writing tool.

- On that note, I totally stole some guy's pen. He was the business suit type, and was atypically discussing something with me, most likely about the price of gas or his credit card or his pet cat. Either way, it was distracting. He signed his receipt, and I picked up the blue and white hotel pen to put back behind the cash. He gave me the strangest most confused look I've ever seen behind a pair of Raybans, and walked out. It was ten minutes later that I noticed TWO blue and white hotel pens sitting beside me. Oops. Not only do I work at a gas-station, I'm also a petty theif. That guy was probably pissed.

- Someone called me a bastard because the toothpaste was too expensive.

- actually, Everyone calls me a bastard because Everything is too expensive. I work at a store where the owner raises the price of water on really hot days. I should expect it by now.

june 23 2003

At work I become a robot. I speak without even realizing I'm speaking, and can completely detatch myself from conversations while listening to the running commentary in my head. It's kind of unnerving. However, I would really like to be able to handle idiotic, mandatory conversations with people in the same way. I'm not generalizing this to every conversation with people I don't know that well. I'm referring to those irritating conversations that go like this:

"So.. how are you?" [they don't care]
"I'm doing great" [lies]
"Great... what are you doing for the summer?"
"Oh you know, working at a gas station, taking summer courses..."
"Ah, sounds like fun. See you around!"
"Yeah for sure!"

Reality:

"So.. how are you?"
"Well, I'm drunk and sort of feel like setting your sweater on fire. That guy in the corner hates me, and I also have a bruise on my left shin."
"Great, me too. What are you doing for the summer?"
"Oh you know, working a really shitty job, paying for textbooks, getting rejected left and right even though there was nothing to reject in the first place, getting a sunburn, hanging out with people sometimes...
"Ah, sounds like fun. But I didn't really care. See you around!"
"Probably not."

And by reality, I meant bitterness. Yikes. I didn't mean for it to sound like that, but you get my point.

august 16 2003

work today was a circus. The bad kind. with the elephants and the shitty trapeze people that probably fall and die.

1. Lady who owns the hotel across the street called and screamed at me over the phone for a solid ten minutes, because apparently the lid on MCDONALD'S dumpster blew open... and a few pieces of garbage blew over into her yard. She insisted that I run over right that second and pick it up.

I suggested she look the fuck over into my parking lot and note the 25 cars sitting there, and that she could come over and stand behind my counter to make sure they don't steal gas while I do that. So she called Mcdonalds, and being the bitches they are, they did it. "DID YOU KNOW I COULD FINE YOU $500 FOR LITTERING?" No, bitch, I didn't.

I seriously wanted to kill her. Anyway.

2. An hour and a half into my shift, a man stood at the counter and yelled at me while the full line of people behind him waited and watched. He was upset that Esso hadn't transferred his precious points over to his new card. I told him there was nothing I could do about it because I'm not head office. Cue freak out. Usually I remain calm, monotone, and blank during such situations. This time I nearly burst into tears in front of him. Now that's anger and frustration.

HOWEVER:

3. Awesome guy with nice belt and a Black Flag shirt walked into the store.

Me: That guy has an awesome shirt.
Guy with nice belt and Black Flag Shirt looks around in confusion.
Me: Is that George Stroumboulopoulos?
George Stroumboulopoulos: Hi. Where are we?

It's only then that I notice the GIGANTIC MuchMusic bus outside my window filling up with gas. Yeah, I do my job well.

We chatted, he got directions to where they were going, and him and some other guy bought potatoes. They asked if they were good on the barbecue. I said, Um, sure?

Someone else kept talking about rick and actually referring to him as "Rick the Temp."  Like as in, "DUDE, Rick the Temp was supposed to buy us smokes. What the fuck."

Meanwhile I just sat there wondering what the hell was happening to the world.

They all bought Mcdonalds, used the bathroom, and left about 20 minutes later. It's been a surreal few days. I work 7-3 again tomorrow. There's a 70% chance I will have completely lost it by 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. Bye kids.

ps - note my pattern of posts in the past week or two regarding George and The Weakerthans. Huh? Also note my attempt at spelling his name right this time.

august 17 2003

At 6:00 this morning I was outside the Esso watching the sky get bright, curled up in the chair by the door. I was on the verge of falling asleep when three guys walked up and said, "HEYyyy it's the Esso girl!"

As it turns out, they were staying at the hotel next door and wandering around all night. One of the first things one of them said to me was, "I've been awake since Friday morning." These guys were hardcore. They came from Nova Scotia to hang out on PEI and not sleep till they went back home.

We had the most surreal conversation ever. Something about carnies (who were all across the street at Tim Hortons, by the way), tents, and Snoop Dogg. I have no idea. All four of us were completely delirious.

Also, they planned on going to the flea market this morning. They invited me along, but I passed. Flea market + 16 hours of work with no sleep is way too ridiculous for me.

Oh, note: their names were Beaker, Angel, and Rory. Awesome to the extreme.

I'm pretty sure that out of a 24 hour time span, only about 7 of those hours weren't spent behind the cash register at work. Ummm time to go play video games.

september 18, 2003

Work tonight was so mediocre that I really have nothing to say about it. Weird, yes. I hear everyone breathing a sigh of relief. Suck that air back in, bitches. I'm bored, and online, so the senseless writing/torture continues.

To begin, I wasn't even supposed to be there. When your shift starts off like a bad moment from Clerks, you know nothing good can possibly come from it. Two guys walked up, wondering why their friend got fired. I merely said, "Who the fuck knows. I'm working for him right now. If you see him, kick him in the teeth." Oh the hostility! They laughed and said they were on the case.

Next: I discover that I had been docked a THIRD of my pay. I agonized over this for a little while. Oh sweet jesus. Have I been working for free? As it turns out, my "cash was short one day", so it was deducted accordingly.

Noooooooo

I know exactly where it went. Fuck if I ever go to the bathroom with a 14 year old co-worker watching my cash again. Could I possibly be any more stupid? My guess is no. Anyway, my boss compromised and forked over $25 of the deduction, the rest remaining in his pocket.

I deserved it, though. I'm terrible. While daydreaming (staring out the window blankly), I recalled the time I called in sick so I could attend the very last House of Rock show ever. The pure energy, chaos, and perfect group dynamic radiating from that event made it worth every second of being a rat bastard.

This nonsense was offset by the fact that the Beautiful, Fabulous Mcdonald's manager was working across the store. Nice hair. Weird taste in music. Good times. He thinks I'm a nut, anyway. Actually, with my amazing luck he probably reads this, along with the rest of the fucking city. HI WHAT'S UP.

I also discovered tonight that I get way too much satisfaction from explaining to tourists the reasoning behind "all those crazy bottles". Almost as much as I like giving directions.

Apologies. I complain about my job to an excess, especially when I'm.. intoxicated. Unhealthy, I do believe. Honestly, if I didn't have so much seniority there, I'd bolt in like two seconds. It's familiar. I have control. I win. I feel like I'm more than a rusty cog in a huge corporate machine, even though that's exactly what I am.

I have to shut the fuck up now.

september 28, 2003

Work last night was actually... Fun. Fun with a capital F and no sarcastic connotations. It might have something to do with the fact that I was training someone from 7-11, and during this time period everyone else I worked with stopped by to visit. My love for those jerks has been renewed, solidly.

During that wasteland of time between 3 and 7, I entertained myself by drawing, and highly stylizing, an Out of Order sign, and one that specifies, "Please Use Other Bathroom" (with an arrow), because people are stupid.

The bathroom wasn't really out of order, it was just so disgusting that it hurt me to even think about stepping inside it. There was no time to clean it (as I can't leave my precious window area) and no time to deal with people yelling at me, so up went the sign.

I remember reading somewhere that a gas station attendant is #2 on the list of the top three occupations where you are most likely to be murdered, along with retail, and taxi driver. Oh, excellent. Mental note: I live on PEI.

october 12, 2003

Yesterday, at work:

Phone rings. I answer, as always, albeit reluctantly. The phone ringing is never good.

"I was wondering... do you sell gift certificates?"
"Yes, we do, but I don't have access to them right now because the manager is out."
"Oh, really. Well, that's kind of sucky, because I was going to buy $200,000 worth."
-- LONG PAUSE--
"Uh...... you can try the other Esso on Belvedere, maybe?"
" Nope. I'm going to a different gas station company."
Click.

Have fun spending $200,000 on gas, moron.
[HE REALLY DID SAY SUCKY]

Also:
Customer gives me a scornful look, because I wasn't at the counter when they approached it. "HELLO? Service?" The scornful look was returned, I'll assure you.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually a robot. Occassionally, you know, my bladder gets full like other humans and I have to use the bathroom." I'm rude about once a year, and I'm ever thankful that I kept my rude ticket for this opportunity. I fucking LOVE the service industry.

november 9, 2003

I just got home from work. What a super fun weekend. SUPER FUN!

Random Notes From Work:

-  There's definitely a cop assigned specifically to my workplace, to handle the various (numerous) cases. This is probably because my boss is a nutjob who calls the cops on people who have shitty haircuts.

- At one point I looked across the store at the McDonalds and saw shoes flying back and forth in the kitchen. I simply don't ask anymore.

- Five minutes later, a shoe sailed directly towards my head.

- I love overhearing on the drive-thru, "HEY, who's working at the Esso?"  Fuck. I'm a celebrity. (oh.. for the uninitiated, I work at the Esso with the McDonalds in it, in West Royalty. You're right, it's as shitty as you're thinking).

- How the fuck is someone peeing on the toilet seat in the women's washroom? Sure, challenge gender barriers by changing your bathroom position, but jesus... practice at home first, sharpshooter.

- NO, you don't need a bag for your one bottle of juice. Please go suffocate yourself with it. Thanks.

- At around 8pm, I had a nosebleed for the first time in my life. Blood is so badass.

- There was an awkward moment when the McDonald's night manager walked in. We had both seen each other ridiculously drunk two nights ago, and what we may or may not have discussed is a mystery at the moment.

One day I told him he was snazzy.

... and Thursday night he was dancing to 54-40. He's also the one who made the taxi driver comment, to which I retorted with, "Oh, 54-40 used to be a cool underground band, right?"  I'm ruthless.

(and he probably reads this)

- For a fleeting moment, the store was empty. Calm. Relief. Relax. A car pulled up. To the silence, I immediately and instinctively blurted out, "JUST GO THE FUCK AWAY!!" Scary.

Of course, I forgot about the kids at McDonalds. One of them looked up quickly and stared. "UM, hey... are you losing it over there? Want me to throw something?"

Yes, I do. Throwing things is so under-rated. I hate my job.

- The guys I work with don't invite me to drink with them. Sure, their ages average at about 16, but they all hang out together now. I think it's because I'm the authority figure; because I'm female; because I'm "old". I want to be like, "Guys! I'm cool. I'm hip. I'm down with fun." Guys! Guys?

Maybe I'm cranky and mean.  Maybe I AM old. Maybe I WON'T appreciate their fun. I don't want that to be the case. I want myself to be universal.

Guys! I'm IN THE KNOW, ok?

(note: I don't actually want to drink with the 15 year old gangsta boys)

- You've probably noticed that it's -3 degrees outside. Don't worry, everyone else has too.

"Fuck it's cold!" - everyone.

I began counting people who mentioned the cold as a conversational starting point. The results: 85% of customers said some variation of "SWEET JESUS MY FINGERS IT'S SO FREEEZING!"

I promise to be more positive tomorrow morning.

november 16, 2003

To further my procrastination, Random Notes From Work version Whatever. Unfortunately, this seems to have become a regular installment, usually written in post-work frustration on Saturday nights.  It's for my own use, really. There's something so satisfying and therapeutic about pressing the Feed button on the receipt printer and reaching for a pen-- while the angry/insane/MEAN customer is standing there, still in the process of being angry/insane/mean. Yes, I'm writing about you, and you have no control over that. I WIN.

I win a thousand fucking times over. Y'all can't touch me.

Ok, anyway:

- When I got there today, the whole place smelled like salt and vinegar chips. Not just a vague hint of salty-vinegarishness, but a powerful, suffocating, "oh sweet jesus please leave the room" type of odour. I think it might have been the first customer. Um, the smell lingered all night, so it actually might have been me. I showered, though. Mysterious.

- Sometimes when I attempt to scan an item, it doesn't work right away. As if this wasn't annoying enough, EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN FUCKING PERSON SAYS THIS: "Oh, I guess that means it's free! *chuckle, chuckle, hearty laugh." OH YOU FUCKERS. I HATE YOU SO MUCH. Every time I hear this now, I clench my teeth and say, "No, actually it's not," in the most monotone voice I can manage. It's fun. But this is seriously the most irritating thing I have ever encountered in my life. I hear it at least 20 times a shift, and each time I brace myself for the inevitable snap.  Quite possibly, I'm going to develop a severe complex just because a few dumbasses think they're hilarious.

- Oh my god, I sound completely insane.

- Guy gets $19 of gas. Guy walks in, reaches in his pocket, and dumps about 25 pounds of nickels and dimes on the counter. I look at him. He looks at me. Sigh. I start counting.

- In retrospect, there was actually $23 there. I'm pretty sure he was just too fucking lazy to count the change he had accumulated in the car cupholder himself.

- Absolutely everyone has to stop buying lottery tickets immediately, so my mental health doesn't deteriorate any more than it already has.  

-  At 4:00, things began to get busy. People came and went in tidal surges. Cars lined up one after the other for an eternity. The sky grew dark. Hundreds of people bought cigarettes. I smiled a thousand times and charmed a thousand people with superficial friendliness and half-hearted small talk. Suddenly, the store was empty. I looked at the clock.

Exactly three and a half minutes had passed.

- Eventually, I just started ignoring everyone and decided to build Kinder Surprise toys instead. You can fit some pretty crazy shit inside an egg.

- The guy with the bridge piercing who takes back lots of bottles and calls me by name came in again. I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Please explain. Do you read this? How do you know my name? I'm sorry. I feel like a moron. I also can't do math.

- Jesus fish! This will be explained to a few privileged people soon enough.

- To end on a more positive note, my Favourite Customer Ever showed up tonight, buying his usual bottle of Sprite.  I hadn't seen him in awhile, and he was sorely missed. He's a dream-- the perfect combination of sincerity, genuine goodwill, and respect. He smiles. He asks how my day is going. He says thank-you. He acknowledges me as a person, not a robot-slave that should do everything with perfect efficiency. He's kind of cute. Of course, all these characteristics lead me to believe he's not even human.

He should teach a course on how  to not be an asshole.

-  CBC Radio 3 saves my life, much like the Toronto Blue Jays.

I'm sorry. Work stories are boring. Do yourself a favour and give me something exciting to write about. Aw, who the hell am I kidding? My writing skills have gone to shit.

november 23, 2003

Abbreviated Notes FromWork:

Man comes in. Shakes my hand.

"I'd like a 7-Up. Here's a dollar."
I stare blankly. "Well... I have to scan it, so..."
"Ok, go for it, dear!"
 .......
"They're right over there, actually..."
"Can you go get me one?"

I again stare blankly. Ok, what? I tell him I can't really leave my counter, so he'd have to get it. He goes, but can't find the damn thing so I end up getting it for him anyway.

He shakes my hand. "You're good people. Good people, dear. What's your name?"
"Gabrielle."
"Daria! You're good people! I'm Little Joe from Winsloe. Nice to meet you, Dariel!"

Before I even get a chance to correct him, he continues on, grinning madly.

"So can I have this 7-Up? I'll just be off with it. Little Joe from Winsloe'll give ya a good word, right on you hear?"
"Um.. actually, I'd love to, but I'd probably get fired. The 7-Up is $1.92."
"Well Debra... Debra was it?"
"Gabrielle."
"Well, Garelle, you're good people. Here's a toonie, right? I don't need them pennies. Are you a student? You're looking mighty lovely tonight."

I start to think that maybe, just maybe, he was fucking with me. It was all too perfectly nonsensical.  Thoroughly amused, I take his money and give him a bag for his 7-Up.

"Little Joe thanks you muchly, dear."
This time I was anticipating the handshake. A firm, businessman, 7-Up drinker handshake. I smile, thank him, and bid him goodnight.

"You're good people, Debria."
"...Gabrielle."
"Have a right on evening, Debrielle!"

I have got to fucking change my name.

november 30, 2003

Sharlene and I went to the Esso in Stratford the other night. The first person I saw  upon our arrival was my Favourite Customer Ever, standing casually by the gas pumps  looking all congenial and considerate and sincere and respectful. Sigh.

Do I acknowledge him? Wait, why is he at this Esso? Is he cheating on me with other cashiers? I'm so betrayed.

At first, I kind of ignored him, because really, how do you acknowledge that weird employee-customer relationship outside of the work environment, when you both know it exists but aren't really sure if the other does?

I walked into the store, and waited in line with Sharlene. A minute later, I heard a voice behind me say, "From one Esso to the other, eh?" Turning around, I saw Favourite Customer Ever grinning at me.

Ah. This is why you're my favourite. I'm glad you're spreading the nice-ness wealth across the city, but don't ever go to Stratford Esso again. COME SEE MEEE. MAKE ME HAPPY. You belong in West Royalty, fighting off the evil powers of dumbass people who pay for 99 cent gum with a $20 bill.

november 30, 2003

WORK.

- I walked into the bathroom and immediately started laughing hysterically. There's a new sign taped on the wall right above the garbage can. On computer paper, in  huge, bold, black, capital letters it says, "GARBAGE HERE PLEASE".  It's so arrogrant and condescending. My boss is a riot. He hates people almost as much as I do.

Meanwhile, the bathroom stays really clean now.

- Please don't pay with your bank card if you can't remember something as simple as entering your PIN number. Who the hell gave you a bank account? I'd say that at least 95% of people who pay with debit hand me their card, watch me swipe it, then proceed to either go do something else across the store, or stare blankly out the window until I point at the pinpad. I hate you.

- A guy with gray plastic sunglasses frames (Oakleys) converted into real glasses comes in every Saturday night. Every time I talk to him I feel like I'm in a cheesy science fiction movie. sscchhh attention! Your space-goggles are fogging up. Please enter the de-fogidator. ssschhhh.

- Don't yell at me because the Royal Bank machine is broken. Does this look like a bank?  Do you see any velvet ropes and pens attached to gold chains? No, you don't. You see 12 year olds stealing candy and lottery print-outs mingling with dirt and gummy bears on the floor. This is a convenience store. DON'T YELL AT ME.

- A guy walked up to the counter and said, "Have you ever had rock star sex?"  It might be the best question ever. Try this yourself. Ask everyone you meet.

- Ok, this blew my mind. Seriously. It made my brain endure a painful paradigm shift as it questioned everything it has ever learned in its existence. Ok.. wait for it... are you ready? I SAW SOMEONE WEARING AN EXPOS HAT.

NO, REALLY.

I work the overnight shift on Friday. What a GOLDMINE.

ps - Why haven't I learned what months have 30 days in them yet? Isn't that mandatory in the kindergarten curriculum?

december 7, 2003

Procrastination across the nation.

Or in my room. At my computer. Anyway.

I worked the over night shift yesterday and sufficiently fucked up my sleeping patterns for the rest of the weekend. It's 12am and it feels like the afternoon. Oh, I could use that to my advantage, right? I could take the extra time and study into the night! No. No I couldn't.

WORK:

- 12:30am
"Favourite Customer Ever was just here. He knows my name now, because his friends are completely insane." 

Remember the time in the summer I had to work back to back afternoon and overnight shifts?  Remember the insane, delirious guys from Nova Scotia who hadn't slept in three days and made even less sense than I did? They hung out with me at daybreak and told me stories of camping and adventure. Anyway, one of them showed up at the Esso last night.

We reminisced about our past sleepless situation. While doing so, one of his friends approached. It was Favourite Customer Ever. He immediately said, "WAIT... YOU KNOW THE ESSO GIRL?"

Oh god. I'm The Esso Girl.

They bought five small bottle of Pepsi. What?

- Who called me at 11:30 and said something totally unintelligible through some kind of vocoder? I hung up on you. In retrospect, I should have found out who it was and beat you senseless later.

- A guy from one of my classes came in completely hammered, gave me a high five, and told me he loved me. My job has its perks.

- A police officer didn't turn off his truck to pump gas. I got to use the intercom and be snotty. "Um, you'll have to turn off your vehicle. I'm afraid that's very dangerous." This could be considered a perk. It's not.

- My favourite part though, was the guy who came in with his friend to buy Maxim magazines because he failed to pick up at the bar.
Guy: ohhhh yeah.
Friend: Aw, that's just going to make it worse, man.
Guy: Who cares? She's hot.

The rest of the night was spent pretending one bathroom was out of order and reading Trudeau's Memoirs. More on this later.     (i say, like it's going to be some all important revelation. Stay tuned for more enlightenment.)

december 21, 2003

CHECK THIS - my Saturday night shift has come and gone, and I've written nary a word. What's become of my work hobby and my irritating regular feature post? Fret not - people were just tragically fucking boring that night.

The only thing I have written down on my little squares of receipt paper:

"One of my cute regulars came in and bought tins of cat food and iced tea. Oh, all that you need in paradise. Take me with you."

Lame? Correct. However, luck is with you this week, as I work every single day (including Christmas morning at 7am. Thanks a fucking lot, jesus). Imagine the receipt-loads of material I'm going to have. It's insane. I'm probably even going to see Favourite Customer Ever, which will produce those awkward stories  you all love so much.

FACT: THERE'S ANOTHER GIRL NAMED GABRIELLE. AND SHE WORKS AT THE ESSO.

For serious. I've never even MET another person with my name before, let alone have one randomly start working with me at my little store. I haven't encountered her yet. The only evidence I have is the new schedule format.

Gabrielle #1
Gabrielle #2

Just looking at it blows my mind. Oh, there's going to be a take-down-- this town's only big enough for one Gabrielle. Uh, this gas station. Yeah. Let's have a knife fight in the parking lot. Wait... I wonder if people call her Gabby? Or G? This is fucked up, guys. Fucked up.

And all you people named Sarah and John and Matt are saying, "Chill the fuck out."

january 31, 2004

I have to get ready for work in about one minute, if I want to be there on time. While I would usually be fretting and cursing my existence right now, I'm strangely calm and looking forward to the next 8 hours. Unimaginable, n'est-ce pas?

WE GOT A CD PLAYER AT WORK. !!!!!  Nothing can possibly express how absolutely fucking amazing this concept is. NO MORE CHTN, no more killing the torturous hours till CBC 3 starts.  Now I can pass the time with watered down, mellower versions of whatever music I'd like to listen to. I woke up at 9 this morning and immediately made two mixes, which I labelled "Quiet #1" and "Quiet #2." I'm pretty sure the Weakerthans are on there at least 8 times.

I discovered it the last time I worked. One of the kind boys I work with took it upon himself to purchase a cheap, probably stolen CD player from Cash Converters for the benefit of us all. Much love. Of course, I didn't even have one CD on me, which hasn't ever, ever happened before. He generously offered his own selection.

Xzhibit and Green Day. That's it.

I listened to Dookie for like four hours. Holy fuck.

january 31, 2004

Notes From Work Limited Edition.

- There's a reason I ask that irritating question, "and will that be everything?" when you're buying a five cent candy with a $50 bill.

If one more person ignorantly brushes off my question, yet responds with a snotty and condescending "UH, my GAAAS," when I state the rather "low" total they owe, I'm going to rub their sour candy in their eye till they scream. What the fuck did you think I was asking before, dumbass?

Seriously. That's uncalled for. It's really not in your best interests to make me feel like an idiot while you pay for overpriced chips and the gas for your gratuitiously huge SUV.

I'm going to guess that at least one third of the people I encounter do this. Where the hell are all these stupid people coming from? Who let them drive cars?

- deep breath.

- I realized that a lot of the music I so enjoy doesn't exactly work in the context of, well... anywhere that other people can hear it.  Try listening to d.b.s. with old ladies cruising the peanut aisle. Rest assured, it makes me want to turn down the stereo and wash behind my ears.

- Guy that me and the early-high-school-posse used to pester while he worked at a gas station came in tonight... to find me working at a gas station. Judging by the amused and satisfied look on his face, that just might have been the most validating moment in his life so far.  No wait, I still remember that time you went to the bootlegger for us. We win.

- I finally met Gabrielle #2. "You're Gabrielle, aren't you? I'm Gabrielle." YES, IT WAS THAT FUCKED UP. Also, she's nuts. No. Seriously. She's nuts.

- Since the gas price is going up tomorrow (and everyone felt the need to save 60 cents), I didn't get to eat or sit down for 8 and a half hours. I've never been so close to throwing a temper tantrum, for real. I kept imagining what the  window would look like after I fired the empty pop bottles through it.  Interestingly, this was always correlated with some fuck saying, "WELL, I got GAS, RIGHT?!"

- Fuck, I'm insane.

-  Clearly, I'm far too bitter and hatred-filled to function within society. In short, I guess the service industry isn't for me?

- understatements.

february 27, 2004

Remember Favourite Customer Ever? And how he's well.. the best customer ever, and should start breeding lots of little Best Customer Evers? I "met" him last night (in a non-work environment! gasp). He introduced himself, shook my hand, and called me "excellent."

As with all semi-crucial situations, I was drunk. I felt like I was standing behind a counter, smiling ridiculously at absolutely nothing. My job has ruined my social skills for life. Customer? Person? Enemy?

No, FAVOURITE CUSTOMER EVER. Thanks for not being shitty.

march 6, 2004

Oh, the overnight shift. Only you can make 6:30pm feel like 8 in the morning. Only under your watch can I tell off drunk old men on snowmobiles.

- Last night I was basically working for free, as the shift's only purpose was to  make back what my scummy little brother* stole from my savings.  I arrived there in the worst of moods, and walked in the door to be greeted by an overwhelming smell of pure shit.

The whole place smelled like shit all night. Apparently, workmen came in with manure on their boots and stomped around buying Diet Pepsi and Doritos, leaving wafts of cow perfume behind them. That was four days ago.

- Two girls reeking of wine coolers stumbled up to the counter at 11:15. They asked for a pack of cigarettes, and when I said, "ID,"  they handed me their COLONEL GRAY HIGH SCHOOL ID. a) why are you this hammered at 11:15? b) why are you hammered and at the Esso? c) who the fuck told you attempting that was a good idea?

- Not five minutes later a boy walked up with sad-dog eyes and asked if he could buy cigarettes if he had a note from his mom.

- At around 12:00, this phone conversation happened:

"YO, WHO THIS?"
"Uhh.."
"Is this Amy? Amy? Who is this? You called me. *static static cchhhhchhccc*"
"What?"
"My girl just called me from this phone. Go get her. Go find her."
"Uhh... they left a few minutes ago." [they did]
"YOU'RE FUCKING LYING. GO FIND HER. I NEED TO TALK TO HER. FUCK chchhhhhhskchh static fucking they're still there."
"Well, they're not in the store, and they're not in the parking lot, so I'm pretty sure you're going to have to come look for her yourself. I'm not getting paid to look for your girlfriend. You're drunk, and on a shitty cell phone, so stop talking to me."
"ccchhh fuck!"
click.

and thus my flames of anger are fueled.

- A guy with huge sunglasses on walked in at 5:30 in the morning. I was listening to le shok.

"They let you listen to this shit?"
"uh.. well, no..."

He grinned behind his sunglasses and stumbled a bit. "Do you like punk? I was at this punk show at Brennan's tonight. It was pretty gay. Do you like punk? You should totally fucking go see Dead Red at Melons tomorrow night. Yeah!"

And with that he was gone.

- If you happen to be a stupid fucking bitchy lady who smokes Player's Light, and swears at employees who have no control over the situation when her brand is sold out, then please refrain from being anywhere near me EVER AGAIN.

She made me so mad I slammed the cash register door shut so hard that things in the store rattled with fear.

- I met the Guardian Guy.

At around 4:30am, this middle aged man sprinted into the store. Looking around frantically, he yelled over to me, "The Guardian in yet?" It wasn't. He left.

Half an hour later, I saw a white car screech into the parking lot, fishtail obnoxiously, and park in three spaces. The same guy got out and dashed inside. "The Guardian in yet?" Not yet.

The phone rang 15 minutes later.

"Queen's Arms Esso."
"The Guardian in yet?"
"... not yet."
"OK. Thanks!"

Do I really need to continue this story? He came in three more times, and phoned twice more-- all over the span of two and a half hours. It's not like he was within walking distance and had some time to kill. He drove to the store each time. "The Guardian in yet?" I really started to get baffled. This guy better fucking be on the front page or something.

He phoned at 7:00 and said, "The Guardian in yet? The Irving down the road got theirs." NOT YET.

When I left at 7:30, The Guardian still hadn't come.

march 21, 2004

Oh, my awesome job.

-- I've said this before, but after today I think it needs reiterating. Listen up. Don't put all your sick bags of chips on the corner of the counter farthest away from my cash. I can't reach them. Honestly. Furthermore, don't stand there slack-jawed, watching me standing on my tiptoes and reaching in vain to grab them, just so you can get a pack of gum a minute later and put it in the exact same corner.

Does that solid GLASS and PLASTIC counter look like a conveyor belt? I'm guessing no. What the fuck is wrong with you people?

-- Some fucker I used to work with won $1400 on a Pro-Line ticket. I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that I haven't had that much money on me in at least five years. Clearly, I need to start watching more sports.

-- "What way do I swipe my debit card?" [swipes card the wrong way.]

"The other way."

"Oh." [swipes card the right way, too fast. It doesn't work.] "*chuckle* It must be the other way, then." [swipes card the wrong way, AGAIN. and AGAIN. and AGAIN].

"Uh no... it's actually the OTHER WAY."

"Are you sure?"

Yes, that's seriously the way you swipe your fucking card. I work here and you don't. Thank god.

(that happens about 45 times a shift. I'm going to stab myself in the eye.)

-- Someone came into my store, and I had a rare, good-natured, comfortable conversation with him. All the while I thought, "My PIN number has been your initials since I was 12." Oh, Grade 7 love. I'm reminded of it every time I make an unnecessary purchase.

-- If you're wondering why I sound so hateful today, it's because my shitty, irresponsible co-worker (who happens to have the same name as me) didn't show up for work to relieve me. I called the rest of my shitty, irresponsible co-workers, and none of them wanted to come in.

45 minutes after I was supposed to be off, I ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and stared at the wall until I heard customers milling about the store sounding confused. I wanted them to steal everything and run so I didn't have to deal with facing the counter again.

I finally composed myself and walked slowly back to the cash. The first customer in line asked, "How are you?"

"Shitty," I replied.

april 12, 2004

Notes From Work (Short Version)

- I went to bed at 10pm last night in preparation for my 7am shift, feeling like a responsible citizen. My brother/co-worker called at 11:30 to informed me that my shift was actually at 3:00 in the afternoon.

I continued to be in bed. Except I started cursing the world, a bit.

- I went to work. Nothing funny happened, no one broke anything, no one interesting came in, and no one stole any gas. I lamented having nothing to write about, and spent 8 hours reading a 14 page article called "Heterotopic Dissonance in the Museum Representation of Pacific Island Cultures."  Ouch.

- 11:00 came, and I realized that the New Girl  hadn't yet shown up to take my place. Upon making a few phone calls, it was determined that the New Girl (whom I hadn't even met yet) had skipped the province and was never coming back. Upon making a few more phone calls, it was determined that every single one of my co-workers, including my boss, was missing and/or not answering the phone.

For the fifth shift in a row, I slammed the receiver down and resigned myself to being at work for yet another 8 hours. For the fifth time, one of the rotten people I work with was either a) not in the province; b) not in the country; or c) missing and never to be seen again.

Anyway, I left an angry message on my boss's answering machine, so at midnight he ended up shipping in some random guy to take my place. I stopped the hate and left,

but not before I left a note saying I Quit.

Holy shit. It only took me, what, two years? And so ends my weekly caps-lock infused tirade about every fucking moron within 50 miles of Charlottetown.

april 19, 2004

(Oh, yeah. Apparently I still have my job, because apparently no one really took me seriously when I said I quit. What the hell? What kind of work-place assumes you're "just mad" and will be "over it" in a few days?

Dear Esso,

No, really. I'm not coming back. Please don't call my house anymore or make me feel bad about life.

SINCERELY,
GABRIELLE #1

ps - You really shouldn't have hired two Gabrielles. I hate you.)

may 10, 2004

"Whatchya' reading?"
"Umm... Pierre Trudeau's memoirs."
"WHO?"
"You know... Pierre Trudeau."
"WHO?"
"You know... that guy who was the Prime Minister of Canada for 15 collective years."
"NEVER HEARD OF 'IM."

Meet Shane. He fixes computers. He's also the new bonus feature of my job. Megan warned me about him awhile ago, saying that he talked to her for a number of hours and tried to coerce her into getting her computer fixed.

Apparently, he comes in every day and tries to get to know the names of everyone who works there. He also mentioned that he lived "right over there" [pointing across the road], and that he can see the place from his bedroom window. He made it very clear that he "don't own binoculars or nothing." It didn't really reassure me.

Last night, he stood beside my counter for four hours. He heckled customers, greeted long-lost friends (and then asked what their names were and how he knew them), and critiqued my customer service style. Periodically, he would ask, "Do you mind me being here? I mean, otherwise you'd be bored, right? You'd just be reading your BOOK. I'm keeping you company. Right?"

After a tortured pause, I would reply, "Yeah. Whatever. Sure. No problem."

While there, he called his girlfriend (FIANCE) 25 times. She was only home for the first three.

So he started leaving messages. "Hi, this is Shane. I'm down here at the Queen's Arms Esso, hanging around, waiting for  you. So if you're out, I'll be here.. or over across at the Tim Hortons. Bye." REPEAT TIMES 20. He then proceeded to call everyone he knew, looking for her. I'm pretty sure she must have left the country.

She never showed up. At 7:30 he proclaimed that he was going to wait around until 9:30, then go home. I looked at him standing there. 9:30? A customer came in and bought a Pro-Line ticket. Shane immediately hijacked him into a conversation about the Toronto Maple Leafs, while the poor sports fan slowly inched his way toward the door with his purchases.

Longest two hours of my life. Finally, at 9:30, I watched the snake-emblazoned back of his denim jacket walk across the road to his house. Ten bucks says he got out the binoculars five minutes later. My job is amazing.

may 16, 2004

I love talking to tourists. It's weird and possibly kind of sick, but it's by far the best part of my job. They're so eager and happy and ready to pump money into PEI's economy. They also ask me a million questions:

- Where can I go to get a tour of Charlottetown?
- Why the hell isn't anything open on Sundays? [I say, "nope, not even Walmart," and they go ape-shit.]
- Is everything here made out of GLASS? [likely referring to bottles. hopefully.]
- Where's the Holiday Inn? [down the road.]
- Where the Econo Lodge [across the street.]
- Where's Myron's? [please don't go there.]

I long to give them the down-low on real PEI life. Tell them the real places to go and the crucial places to avoid if they don't want to get scarred for life. Let them know what places can be enjoyed if you're an asshole and can make it into something ironic.

Sometimes I want to just tell them the exact opposite, and that they should go to Pal's Sports Bar to hang out with the all my Winsloe Friends' parents and have a hoe down.

"Where's J.R. Capone's Pizza? Is it true that the Trailer Park Boys own it?"
"Ummmm... maybe?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"... Are people here really like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... that. Like the Trailer Park Boys."

may 24, 2004

Notes From Work: "It's my fault the gas price is stupid."

- At one point there was an invading army of fathers and their children, all of whom wanted Doritos and Fuzzy Peaches. In the midst of this, I think I heard some guy call his kid "Lunch."

"Ici, Déjeuner!"

Seriously.

- It's amazing how many people are completely astounded by their image on the security monitor. They wiggle their fingers and try to stare at the camera while simultaneously taking glances at the screen.

[waves at camera] "Holy crap... it's ME."

Look in the mirror much, nerd?

- A 13 year old boy came in with a bunch of friends. They decided to overstay their welcome by hanging out for 45 minutes, while this boy bought ONE five-cent candy in each of his six different transactions. The seventh time he returned to my counter, he was buying a drink. I rang it through, and told him it was $1.95 or something similar.

Immediately he transformed into a hissing and spitting fire-breathing shrew. "Fuck, what the fuck? Fuck! It says $1.39 on the sign. I can't fucking pay this. Whatever!"

"Ummmmmm.... no. It says here that it's $1.69 before tax, and that's what it costs. Sorry."

He threw his money on the counter (note: pennies and nickels) and continued being all squint-eyed and foaming at the mouth. "Fuck, yeah well it says that the Lemonade is $1.39 so that's what I'm paying."

"That's Iced Tea you're holding."

Pause. Beat. Beat. Beat.

"WHATEVER! FUCK THIS!!!"

I fear the day these people are running the country.

- The label on our employee stereo: Digital Compact Disc Stereo Cassette Recorder Radio Receiver.

Actually, last time I checked it was a piece of shit from the mid 90s with the pause, play, and stop buttons perpetually pressed in; a CD player that doesn't open; and a radio signal that changes when you step three feet to the left.

It was on for three hours yesterday before I realized that I'd been listening to static the whole time.

june 3, 2004

Yes, so Work. Of course.

- I'm realizing there's a certain kind of person that rabidly collects loyalty points. I haven't quite pinpointed what that is yet, but when I find out I'll let you know. However, they'll definitely have all of the following cards in their wallet, and will take them all out one by one in their desperate card-search:

Club Zed, HBC Points, Esso Extra, Petro Points, Air Miles, defunct Sobeys Club, Jumbo Video stamp card, HMV stamp card (and other things from stores that don't exist on PEI), Optimum card, Indigo Coffee card, Pretzel Maker, and one of those fucking Dave's Cave stamp things that no one I know has ever, ever filled up. You could probably buy a small house for the value of the collective stamps, and for what? $5 off an ugly pair of jeans. Or something.

- ... yeah. That's the kind of night I had. Apologies to anyone who had to encounter me. Mainly, Jonah and Emily.

- Someone wrote ESSO PRINCESS in blue pen on the cash register. And it wasn't me.

- Something bad happened. Instead of screaming mean things and knocking over the chip shelf, I calmly pushed the feed button on the printer, listened to the quiet little humming-buzz it makes, and ripped off a slip of receipt paper.  

- I'm scary, a little bit.

- Also. I worked that fucking shift for free. Fuck.

- Remind me to never wear a printed t-shirt to work again.

         Old man: Soooo... what's t-ball mean?
         Me: T-ball? You know, t-ball. [Looking down] Oh. [Narrow-eyed stare].
         Old man: [Creepy grin].
         Me: [Violated feeling].

Repeat times... oh, I don't know. 50.

- Did I mention that my labour was FREE?

- I worked for free.

- I didn't get paid.

- Fuck.

june 7, 2004

After being at the flea market from 8:30 till 2:00, I went straight to work--where I could again stand in one place and sell things, only for less money.

Shit.

Work:

- I counted everything wrong. Everything. The guy who came on after me couldn't even comprehend how badly I fucked up. "How did you count 64 packs of cigarettes when there are obviously only like, 20?" I told him I had an iron deficiency.

- Nothing interesting happened, really. I read the paper and listened to CBC for six minutes before the static started melting my brain. Thought about hockey, a little bit. Thought about the things I could do with an extra $85. Considered how much Great White I could get with that. Shuddered.

- (If you're wondering, it's 9 and a half bottles. Enough to kill four people.)

- Josh came in for a second. What he probably didn't know was that I had just sliced my thumb open on a movie case, and was trying to be non-chalant and conversational while discreetly bleeding all over the place. Sorry if I got blood on your bank card.

- Ok, I realize that's really fucking sick.

- James and Jon came in

(and I'm just realizing that 80% of the guys I'm friends/acquainted with have names that start with "J." Shall I list them? Ok, no. But that must mean something, right?).

- Anyway, James and Jon came in. The end.

june 12, 2004

Everyone in the entire city needed gas last night. Everyone who owns a shitbox gas guzzler, anyway. "CAN YOU BELIEVE I'M PAYING $51 FOR THIS?" Have you seen your car lately? I have. It's a CO2 machine that probably has a hole in the gas tank bigger than your face.

- Some man, on paying too much for his gas: "Can you find me an Arab sheik to complain to?"

Hang on about five minutes, and I'll make a few phone calls.

- I've decided that the Worst People Ever are the ones who walk up to the counter while you're obviously talking to another customer, and stand there indignantly holding their money or credit card, arm out-stretched. Where the hell was this person when they taught that part about line-butting in kindergarten?

- Oh, wait. No. The Worst People are clearly the ones who think I'm stupid, and let me know. "Are you sure you're doing that right? I'm pretty sure that's not how you do it." Oh, sweet. Amazing. Want to come do this while I go use the bathroom? I've been just waiting for some random stranger who knows how to do my job.

- Then I got THIS phone call, and everything was okay again:

"Is this Gabrielle?"
"... yes."
"OH MAN! Do you know who this is!!?"
"Nope."
"YOU DON'T?!? Fuck, come on! It's GERRY."
"Um..."
"Gerry FROM CUBA! Don't you remember me? Gerry from Cuba with the crazy friend James!"
"Wellll... there are two Gabrielles that work here."
"Oh.. you're not the right one?"
"No... I guess not."

For about one second, I thought that maybe I was leading some sort of double life where I went on all-inclusive trips to Cuba and picked up guys. Now I know that the other Gabrielle is far more exciting than I am.

june 12, 2004

Work last night was sweet.*

        *Sweet is code for "it fucking sucked so hard."

- My new favourite game is "Spot the People From Away!" I make it a point not to look at license plates, and judge tourist-status based on hair, clothing, demeanor, and dialect. Naturally, I win every time. Why do so many tourists wear white pants and sandals? What is it about the colour white that screams, "I'M GOING TO THE GREEN GABLES HOUSE THIS AFTERNOON"?

- Someone I know from another province came in and started asking me about all-ages shows for his band. Being all out-of-it and disoriented in the first place, I fleetingly wondered if I was actually in Halifax and all of this "Charlottetown" stuff was some minor three-minute dream.

- I spent the rest of my shift day-dreaming of Lakeside beach--warm lake, salt marsh, hot pavement, sharp grass, overdeveloped land.* My best childhood memories involve our yearly trip to PEI from Montreal, hanging around the cottages at Lakeside beach and buying rainbow ice cream from the stand by the dunes.

I used to be a tourist here. This was the getaway, the escape from the city, and I never wanted to leave. Eventually, my family did the unimaginable and moved to our paradise vacation spot. Isn't that the dream? The realization was that I need to wake the fuck up and appreciate how amazing that is--and to appreciate things for their presence and not how they're entertaining me at the moment.

     *Optional semi-offensive note: Fuck you, Crowbush Cove.

- Yesterday was the Ch'town Rural prom. A sketchy looking guy came in and said, "AWWW, working on your PROM NIGHT?" He got the Stare of DEATH™.

As he was leaving, he tripped over the plastic door mat and yelled some crazy shit like "Oh motherfuckin fuck damn!"

- Favourite Customer Ever of various other work stories came in wearing a long dark jacket and a fancy suit. He bought a Pepsi and was really, really, really nice. I can't even begin to explain how much of an oasis in the middle of the desert this guy is. He's like the Pacific Ocean, or a bottle of Aquafina in a sandbox. Really, really, really nice.

- At around 6:00, there was a stand-off in the parking lot, COPS style. Some woman came into the store and started ordering food at McDonalds. There was a car in the drive-thru at the same time, and apparently the occupants (two girls and three little kids) "made obscene gestures" at her. In response, the lady started yelling, "FUCKING SLUTS! You're too young to have kids, you dirty skanks!" It was amazing. The whole line of customers in front of me thought so too.

The drive-thru car pulled away and parked in front of the Esso to eat their fries. The lady sprinted to her vehicle, and parked it directly behind the girls, blocking them in. I watched her sitting there for 20 minutes, ranting and raving to every McDonalds employee who went out, one by one, to ask her to leave. Someone eventually just said, "Hey. The cops are coming. Have fun." She left, indignantly squealing her tires.

Why don't I ever come across these people in a non-work environment? Why are they drawn to my work-place on a disturbingly regular basis?

- A boy gave me $2 because he thought I was pretty. I put it in my pocket and later bought chocolate.

I work the overnight shift tonight. LUCKILY FOR ME, it's Colonel Gray's prom night. I totally can't wait to sell boatloads of pop and chips to half-drunk prom-party teenagers. If any of them fuck with me, they'll be slowly roasted on a fire. Coincidentally, I always have a small fire burning in the back room, by the freezer where we put broken popsicles.

An hour and a half left to sleep before I go. Awesome.

june 19, 2004

Last night I listened to 720 CHTN, at a completely unreasonable volume, for 8 hours. Customers had to yell to be heard over the fuzz and the static. I refused to turn it down. There's something about listening to Rod Stewart that makes me way happier than it ever should.

As a result, the night shift was suddenly made bearable. Favourite Customer Ever helped too, who was still unbelievably courteous and personable, even at 3am. Who the hell IS this guy?

Enough about work. I'm off tomorrow, which means I can actually go out on a Saturday night and do things like: be social, hear music, partake in some work-forgetting substances, make an ass of myself. Leave other suggestions below. Where do people go on Saturday nights, if they aren't [I'm not] sitting in their [my] room listening to Fifteen or Left For Dead?

Also: Sharlene and I are selling stuff at the flea market again. This time, it isn't even our own crap. It's crap we picked up for cheap and are reselling purely for profit. We've become just like the rest of the vultures. Come check it out, if you like board games and hideous 80s jewelry.

july 8, 2004

WORKAGE!

- There's a short article taped to the window by the cash now. It's entitled, "Sorry I can't take your call right now. I'm on fire!" Obviously, it's some sort of clever device to make people stop using their cell phones around the gas pumps.

Eventually some lady yelled at me, saying, "That's not TRUE. Those fires didn't actually happen ANYWHERE. It's an URRRRBAN LEGGENDDD." I said in an important voice, "Ohhh, well we try not to take any risks around here." Shit, I'm funny.

What I've deduced about the cell phone issue over the years is that gas companies don't want them used because they interfere with the electronic pay-at-the-pump system, not because they're going to blow me and everyone else up. But who knows? It still gives me an excuse to yell at people over the intercom in a scary God-voice.

- Oh fuck, I had to speak French to an entire biker gang who wanted to get to Souris. As soon as I said, "Oui... un petit peu," to their inquiries of my French-language status, they accosted me with questions in fast, slangy, Québec french.

I could understand them fine, but sounded kind of handicapped in response. Oh, the shame. I could feel my face burning with embarassment.

I'm supposed to be French-Canadien, not a moron. I'm still not sure if I gave them the right directions--or any directions at all, really.

- April Wine came on no less than FOUR times while I was listening to 720 CHTN.

"Like a Lover, Like a Song"
"Just Between You and Me"
"She's an Angel"
"Roller"

It put me in a way better mood. Instead of thinking about morons, people stealing gas, and idiots who don't know how to use their own debit card, I was daydreaming about slushie cups, being soaking wet, and drunken singing/yelling.

Thanks April Friggin' Wine.

- Guilt-ridden Confession:

I spend all my time complaining about assholes who steal gas and fuck everyone over, and about Scumbag Brother who has depleted me of all my material resources, yet I fucking ripped off the Churchill Arms the other night. I'm such a piece of shit.

There's ethical stealing, but then there's being an asshole. We'll get into ethics  later. For now, I'm going to continue feeling like a piece of shit till next Tuesday, when I'll do what I can to fix it.

july 11, 2004

Ok. So.

3-11 shift tonight. Motherfucker who was working the night shift after me called at around 6:00. He asked if I could stay until 3am for him. Three ay em.

No, no I couldn't. a) I'm not working a bitch 12 hour shift. b) I'm in at 7am the next morning. His only response was, "Oh." Yeah. OH, fucker. OH.

11pm came. Motherfucker didn't show up. It was looking like triple-shift time for me, so in a rage I called the owner of the Esso and asked him to do something about it, because I sure as hell wasn't working 24 hours straight.

The owner was drunk and at a wedding party. Sweet. After calling back no less than six times to get the same phone number, he managed to scrape up some poor sucker from his other Esso to work.

Poor Sucker didn't show up till around 12:30am. It's 1am. I'm home. I have to be back at work in five and a half hours. This has happened to me about 20 times in the past four months. Subsequently,

I'M FUCKING QUITTING TOMORROW, BITCHES. QUITTING. TOMORROW. FUCK. Dude better buy me a coffee or shit's going to hit the fan.

july 11, 2004

I didn't quit. Instead, I voluntarily cleaned the entire store with Windex and paper towel.

Well, they're going to feel really bad when I do finally quit, because no one's going to dust that place ever again. It's amazing what kind of shit can collect on the shelves with the crappy candy that no one touches. It was like street-sweeping, without the pavement.

What am I again? Oh, right. A sucker.

(720 CHTN update:

More April Wine today. "Sign of the Gypsy Queen," and "Tonight is a Wonderful Time to Fall in Love" (oh yeah). Also, I'm pretty sure they play "Barracuda" at the same time every day. I can live with it.)

july 30, 2004

Corporate Memo at work, or the paraphrasing of such:

Imperial Oil has noticed a rise in the level of frustration and anger of customers, as a result of the increase in gas prices at the pump.

Incidents attributable to this are an especially high rate of drive-offs, customers refusing to pay full price for their gas, and phoned-in bomb threats. It is important to be sensitive to these customers' concerns and not further provoke a volatile situation.

...

In the case of a phoned-in bomb threat, follow the procedure outlined in the Operators Manual.

The what?

Some old-ish man came in to pay for $27 of deisel fuel. He asked me if the "owner" or the "manager" or the "person working right now" was in. Yeah, I'm just standing here for fun, moron. After telling him that I, in fact, was the person "working," he replied, "Working? What woman ever does anything? What are you even doing, huh? After women's lib we can't get girls to do anything anymore."

....and then his credit card got declined. Score! I laughed in his face and told him he damn well better have another way to pay for it, because this is my JOB and this is what I DO.

He didn't. I made a big show of making another employee go outside to write down his license plate number, rolling my eyes scornfully for the benefit of the people waiting in line.

Damn, seriously. Don't talk shit to me. I will own you.

september 12, 2004

The Good Ship Esso is going down, and there's no fucking way I'm going to drown for those bitches.

This afternoon before work I ingested an obscene amount of allergy medication, to prevent sneezing-every-ten-seconds and that annoying sneezing-in-customers'-faces thing. Yeah. That. I washed them down with warmish water, put on my (hideous) uniform, and walked out the door.

20 minutes later, I was slurring my speech and stumbling around behind the counter with half-closed eyes. I took the night-time pills by accident.

Motherfucker.

I was basically stoned out of my trees for the entire shift, which only made the following events more interesting for me. I also dropped things a lot. I hate that.

- "GAYBRILL. THAT'S A REALLY PRETTY NAME. GAYBRILL. YOU DON'T HEAR THAT NAME TOO OFTEN, EH?" GAYBRIILL."
"Yeah."
"GAYBRILL. It's ANGELIC."
"Yeah."

Say my fucking name wrong one more time and I'm going to blow something up.

- I've learned how people distinguish between me and the other Gabrielle that works there.

"Which one? The normal Gabrielle or the crack-head Gabrielle?"

Guess which one I am. You're probably wrong.

- Co-worker Chris came in at 9, and informed me that he wasn't showing up tonight, nor was he showing up ever again. Superbe. I drunkely called the manager to see what she could do. In pure awesome Esso fashion, she could do nothing, didn't care, and left me to figure out who was going to work for the next eight hours.

So, I called my brother. I love family. I really do. He covered the shift, with one stipulation: he wasn't going to show up ever again, either.

Oh, yes.

Co-worker Kyle came in, and also mentioned quitting. This is where we all give each other high fives and crack open a beer in the store, right? Right. Actually, no. That doesn't happen, because I still haven't fucking quit. Only when I quit does anyone get to do any sort of celebrating/drinking/high fiving.

We're taping up a piece of paper behind the counter that is labeled "QUITTING PAPER. SIGN BELOW." The names are accumulating. The names not on the list are getting fired soon, anyway, because everyone we've hired in the past two months have been fucking lobotomized, or something.

It's mutiny. I love it. I love it so much. I think about it and start laughing with nothing but pure and wholesome joy. The whole place is in shambles and my life is suddenly redeemed.

FUCK YOUUU ESSOOOO

(I'm still doped up on that allergy shit. I can't see.)

september 20, 2004

- The people I work with are crack-heads. Like, actual crack-heads. One of them is also a poop dealer, and walked around all night whispering softly into customers ears, "Want to buy some poop?" I'm not even joking. Dude is whacked. He wasn't even getting paid for hanging out there, unless he scored some dirty feces-money.

- I might be getting a raise.

- (Also, I heard that my next door neighbour walked on water, and that the moon was tinted a beautiful shade of blue, and that a sweet little piglet on the farm down the road started sprouting things that looked suspiciously like wings.)

- Due to the fact that half our parking lot is now sitting in a dump truck somewhere, only two pumps out of eight were working today, and one of them could only pump Supreme. Of course, I was absolutely fucking giddy with happiness over this huge inconvenience. "Try getting through THIS parking lot, motherfuckers." And of course, every asshole in the city tried to get gas from that one goddamn pump that didn't pump Regular.

- "WELL, you should be selling the SUPREME for REGULAR PRICE. It's not fair. No one gets SUPREME."
- "There's a pump that has Regular right there..."
- "It was Toooo LATE, I already pulled up."
- "Umm.. ok."
- "You should be selling it to me for regular price."
- "I'm just a cashier. I can't change the price of GAS."
- "I'm just saying, that you SHOULD BE..."
- "There's a sign right on the pump. Supreme only. Right there."
- "WELL, I only put $5 in so I could get to another gas station, I just wanted to tell you that."
- "OK!!!!!! BYE!"

Long dialogue, but I felt the need to convey my frustation. It gets me through the day. Seriously though, I'm just a fucking cashier. I'm not getting paid enough to deal with self-righteous idiots and people who can't read signs written in large block letters. Please stop pumping gas if you can't read/are oblivious to every other human being. Chances are, you're going to blow us all up.

- The guy who always buys Pro-Line tickets was extra nice today.

- This is getting pathetic.  

october 2, 2004

On my way home tonight, I met the man who started the cab company that notoriously gasses up at my workplace. I feel like I met GOD.

I had an intricate and profound* post to make tonight, but apparently I drank myself stupid. Amazingly, I can still function well enough to hit the enter key in the right places and as it seems, my fingers are smarter than the rest of my body. I'm not really telling them to do this. They know what I mean. They're like, "It's ok. We've got this. Don't worry about it." And I don't. I trust those little fuckers. They know what I'm trying to get at, here.

*profound = less about me and more about things you want to read about.

In other news, everyone at my job got a raise except me. Everyone. All the crackheads, morons, sketchy little kids, and people who started there four months ago MAKE MORE THAN I DO NOW.

I nearly burst into tears. Writing about it now , actually, makes me want to cry. I spent two and a half years of working my ass off and putting up with all their irresponsible and horribly managed bullshit, and the second I cut my shifts down to once a week they kick me in the teeth.

I'M PISSED. WATCH OUT, FUCKERS.

november 1, 2004

I worked all weekend and had a mega-load of work stories to so eloquently document here, but lately there's been no time write them down, because every fucking person living within city limits has decided to visit my store a million fucking times a day.

A few things, maybe:

- The grapevine reveals  that the kids who regularly hang out there think I'm a "hard-ass bitch" because I won't sell them cigarettes. All ten thousand of them. That's a rep which will span the ages.

- Conversely, I'm still known as the "Normal Gabrielle" and not the "Bitter Gabrielle who leans back in her chair and slaps money down on the counter out of people's reach" (Customer's description, seriously). Surprised? Me too. The Other Gabrielle has made it known that she will no longer answer to Crackhead, either. Too bad.

- If you have separate transactions to make please inform the cashier of this fact, and don't just stand there all slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, watching her painstakingly ring in all 13 of your different bags of chips, 10 chocolate bars and four bottles of pop. Please.

"Umm... I have to pay for these three with this bank card, and um these four with this bill and these other things with my change." Note: bank card you don't know the pin-number for, bill ripped in half, linty change. Ohno youdiiidint.

- Hard-ass bitch.

- I listen to Fugazi for entire shifts. This makes things okay.

- ... And that's it, really. Work is a blur now. Everyone does the same stupid shit, and I'm pretty sure I've been through all of it with you. There are only so many ways I can make it sound entertaining.

So, in short, I guess I'm kind of uninspired.  

I want to go to Halifax.

november 22, 2004

With Saturday night came the surreal entity that is the overnight shift. Coincidentally (or not), Sharlene worked the overnight shift at the McDs * within the Esso.

At 4:30am, a pizza delivery guy came in and set a pizza box on the counter. He went through the elaborate motions of buying pull-tickets--trading in all his $1 winners for more $1 winners, and standing there mumbling about me not giving him "the good ones." It's complicated. After throwing out the mangled tickets in disgust, he flipped open the pizza box.

"Take a piece! Take three! I'll give you some now, just in case the girl over there doesn't give you any."

I took three. He went over to McDs and gave the rest to Sharlene. Eating pizza at 4am (while sober and not standing in the cold dropping cheese all over the wet ground outside some sketchy bar) seemed so wrong.

The drunk kids that came in swarmed around me and my slices, drooling and begging for a bite or two with their snatchy little hands. I guarded that shit with my life (and a retractable pen).

Then there was this conversation, with some deranged woman:

"Um, you really should get a garbage can for your bathroom."
"Oh. Is there something wrong with it? Is it full?"
"No. There isn't one."
".... Are you sure? It's on the wall.. the metal thing.. *trailing off*"
"Nope, there's NO GARBAGE CAN."
"Is there garbage on the floor?"
"Yup, and I had to put mine there too."
"You put it on the floor? Okayyy... I'm pretty sure there's a garbage can."
"Nope. Get one. Bye."

Holy fuck, was I going crazy? Did someone STEAL THE ENTIRE GARBAGE WALL UNIT? Was there one to begin with? Oh my god. I stumbled away from the counter and slammed open the bathroom door. I flicked on the light and blinked.

The fucking garbage can was right there. And it was totally empty. There were, however, mounds of wet paper towel all over the floor.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? Did the garbage can suddenly turn invisible for an entire hour? Or did everyone go BLIND and/or lose all respect for that ONE PERSON WORKING AT THE FUCKING GAS STATION WHO HAS TO PICK UP THE TRASH? I don't understand. I obviously need to quit. My job makes me type in caps lock.

*I totally abbreviated McDonalds.

december 29 2004

I promise I'll cheer up. Immediately after I get these work stories out of my system.

- A note taped inside the Gas Price binder:
Price changes can only be accepted from the following price room staff: Rock.
Why Is somebody named Rock working in an office at Imperial Oil? Why isn't he out fighting bears or pulling tractors with his teeth? I hope he calls me soon; I want to say his name. Hi Rock. Our gas price is 81.5.

- I have a nemesis. For real. She's a blond middle-aged woman who comes in at the most inopportune times to buy massive amounts of lottery tickets. She doesn't just buy tickets; she buys them and stands right at my counter to painstakingly scratch every single one. She makes me wait there in front of her, while she hands me each freshly scratched ticket. 

"Check that."  "Check this."  "Check it."  "I won on that one." Check.  

She looks at me with such contempt that I know she thinks I'm an idiot. She tells me curtly how to do my job: "I don't think you did that right." "NO, only TWO Crosswords." "Okayyy... you lost me there, didn't you? I have to tell you again?FOUR Bingo and EIGHT Lucky Sevens and THREE Live it Ups."

I just look at her and fume in silence, poking the lotto touch-screen with as much force as I can. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Uh no. You lost."
"Whatever... I'll see. I want that one back."

The worst part is I'm never sure when she's going to show up. It could be at 6:45 in the morning when I'm about to switch shifts. It could be while I'm in the middle of counting tickets. It could be when I'm just about to go to the bathroom. I see her walking by, glancing darkly in my window , and I resign myself to another hour of holding in 
my pee. 

Sorry if she's your mom. 

- One of the last overnights I worked was abound with drunken adventure:

- First, there was a lady who got in a fight with her son and needed a flashlight so she could move out at 2am. She also asked for a garbage bag, a rope, and a boxcutter. Right.

- A girl stood beside my counter and recounted the same story to me no less than six times. The only thing that varied was the order, and what she called the tiny ledge she had been dancing and stripping on in a Summerside bar before she got kicked out. "My FIRST TIME in Summerside. And I got ESCORTED OUT! I took off my PANTS!" She demonstrated for me.

- A guy who used to babysit me bought a sandwich.

- A heartachingly cute guy remembered me from the time I worked at a call centre two years ago. He was a supervisor and I was the girlwho sat at her cubicle and didn't talk to anyone.

I was so dumbfounded I did nothing but smile foolishly at him. He said, "Yeeeah... they used to call me Cumsky there."

He also used to phone random numbers in the states and ask if they had ordered a pizza. If anyone ever called back his individual line, he'd answer, "Pizza Hut!" I loved him, mainly because he didn't give a shit.

- Drunk guy tried to throw a bottle of water at me, and yelled about spies looking at him in the window while he tried to rip the debit pin pad off the counter.

- Too long.

january 15 2005

I think that maybe a Current Events update is in order, just so I can let you know that I just wrote a fun little note to my boss. It involves "Two Weeks" and "Quitting" and "Unsatisfaction" with "Everything."

The note is beside me now. I left work at midnight, crying miserable tears of frustration and utter hatred for everyone I encountered tonight, knowing that I'd have to be back again in six and a half hours for another round of Fuck The World.

Seriously, when I start crying at work, I know it's time to duck and cover. Climb out of the kiddie pool and take off my water wings. Walk through door number 3. Pick a cliche.

I'll be unemployed, broke, and unable to go on my after-graduation trip, but I won't want to stab myself in the face on a regular basis. Sweet.

Let's see how shitty  things are in six hours when I get to work again. I might tape the note to the office door. I might not.

january 15 2005

I didn' quit, because I got to listen to the 80s at 8. Hearing the Neverending Story theme song made me feel better.

february 28 2005

The weekend, in obviously unedited and poorly organized point-form:

- Woke up at 8am Friday morning. Wrote a presentation. Presented it at 9:30am. Would have preffered death by stabbing. Classmates also would have preferred this option.

- Formosa Tea House re-opened after a month and a half. Cue everyone squealing like a little girl and promptly dropping cash on the entire menue.

- I went to work and pretended to be tough. I'm not tough. I'm whiny and sad and mean. My only satisfaction came from laughing in kids' faces when they attempted to buy cigarettes, which led me to conclude that I'm a bad person who deserves a shitty job. What I didn't deserve was discovering an ocean of orange puke hanging out in the men's bathroom, punctuated with clear slip marks. Clean it? No. Close the door and lock it. 

- My job might suck, but at least I'm not the guy that slipped in his own puke.

- At 11pm I left work, went to a party at Jenna and John's, and opened a bottle of wine. At 11:45, the bottle of wine was empty and I was having conversations about elementary school, and yelling loudly about how awesome music is.

- There was a dance-off. An actual dance-off, with a circle and people busting moves and mock-hostile glares. I wish I had of been more aware of what was going on, instead of just crashing the circle and breaking it down.

- The next day I worked the overnight shift. Suddenly it was 6am and I found myself leaning groggily over the counter, using a calculator to solve equations like 86 - 5. When did I become an idiot? I mentally slapped myself in the face and worked it out on paper, instead.

    86
-   5

Not really. Well, maybe once.

- I hid in the bathroom for 15 minutes because I was sick of being harrassed and hit on by drunk assholes. They use sickening familiarities like "sweetie" and "honey," to which I respond ultra-coldly. There's nothing more honest than pissed off Working-Gabrielle talking to drunk guys.

"Soooo sweeetie... workin' overnight, eh?"
"Yup."
"How do you like that shift?"
"I fucking hate it."
"Hawwwww... I'm so drunk. How's your night going?
"Shitty."
"Awww honey come party with USSSSSSS... I'll showwww yoouuu a goood tiiime."
"Nope, I'm already hammered. Thanks anyway."

So I'm an asshole and a hypocrite. I'm the best.

- Between customers, I read an entire novel.  

- I left work at 7:30am and had to be back again for 2:30. The only highlight during that day was correcting grammar in Sharlene's essay.  I could correct grammar all day and be blissfully happy.* Discovering the perfect way to correct or re-word a sentence is like eating ten pounds of chocolate cake or flying a kite or playing with a million cute cats. It's that good.

   * Not that this space is representative in any way of grammar skillz, but I fucking like it. A lot.

- So, like, whatever.

march 4 2005

I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUITI QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT

MY JOB!

If anything deserves caps lock and exclamation points, it's this.

I was trying to eat a sandwich. Each moment that I'd raise it to my mouth a customer would shuffle up to the counter, and I'd forego another bite in favour of not chewing obnoxiously for a full minute while a stranger stared at me expectantly. An hour later, the sandwich and I were still doing this dance. I threw a pen, kicked in a cupboard door, and then calmly wrote out a note stating that my two weeks notice would start today--that very second, really, if you want to be specific about it.

I fixed the cupboard and ate my sandwich.

(Oh wait, but let's not forget the "I quit but they didn't believe me" story. That's a good story--one that I hope never, ever fucking happens again. I'm going to make sure the last three years go out with some sort of loud sound, fireworks, and maybe a bottle of whisky--not shitty mediocrity and a pathetic whimper.)

march 7 2005

Woman to Co-Worker Chris, as she walks up to the counter:
"Wow.... So you know how a guy sees a girl and is like, 'Daaaamn'? Yeah, I think I just got that. Oh my god, look at your dimples."

Later, another woman approached us and told me that my hair was really cute. She glanced behind me at Chris and said, "Oh! You're cute too! You're like, Tom Cruise Cute."

(Kelly was standing nearby and immediately took offense. "He is NOT!" She almost made him cry.)   

You heard it. All the beautiful people work at the Esso.

A drunk guy wandered in from a nearby hotel and asked me where the cash machine was. I pointed at it. He used it for a really, really long time, and came back to my counter with about $1000 in twenties in his hand.

"So, is someone going to drive me back to the hotel now?"
"Ummm... what? No. I'm the only one here. And I don't have a car."
"So no one's going to drive me."
"No."
"I'll give you $20."
"I don't have a car."
"$20."
"I can't leave the store. And I don't have a car."
"Well, will you at least remember my face so you can tell the police what I look like if I get rolled on the way back to the hotel?"
"...sure. No problem."
"Thaaankk youu! You Islanders are such nice people!"

Seriously. Rolled.

My last shift is 3pm-11pm on Saturday. I urge everyone to come and visit. Bring wine and cheese. Bring whiskey. Bring party hats. Bring condolences; I'm starting to have second thoughts. Fuck, where the hell else am I ever going to have the opportunity to talk to drunk business men, kids on pills, RCMP officers, taxi drivers, and older women hot for Chris all in the same night?* I started getting sentimental today. Sentimental. For the fucking Esso. I obviously have no real joy in life.

* I guess the answer to this question is "any bar in the entire city."

march 13 2005

I woke up Saturday morning on the top of a bunk bed, in an unfamiliar room, inside an unfamiliar apartment, on a mysterious street, somewhere in Halifax. Kelly was beside me. Kelly was definitely not there when I went to sleep. I was evidently not even there when I somehow climbed up to the top bunk without falling and breaking my face, because I don't remember doing it.

What I can remember from the previous night is playing an epic game of Spin The Bottle at an art-school dance, yelling random things about an after-party, and getting stuck in the NSCAD elevator for an undetermined period of time.

"Is the elevator stuck?"
"Who let 30 people on the fucking elevator?"
"ELEVATOR!! ELEVAAAATORRRR!!"

Instead of going to the party we went to pizza corner, Kelly got punched in the face, and I got lost and ended up drinking red wine at 3am with two people I didn't know. They were really nice, and I'm positive I made an ass of myself everytime I opened my mouth.

I'm pretty sure I need to move to Halifax.

In the morning we hurried back to Charlottetown so I could submit to the Esso one last time. I arrived uniformless, reeking of wine, and with a piece of chewed gum smeared all over my t-shirt. Classy. Not so classy: someone else was working. The manager had filled my shift sometime earlier in the week and didn't think to tell me.

Motherfuckers. Goddamn dirty motherfuckers. I didn't get to have my last shift--my only opportunity to tell mean customers off was ungracefully torn from my hands. They must have suspected that I was going to snap and do something stupid. Fuck. The Esso fucked me over one last time. What a kick in the nuts.

I'm so disgruntled.

So instead of working I went to a party with a bunch of hilarious drunk punks where someone peed in a corner, a guy fell down the stairs, and everyone was drinking Olands. I love PEI.

This was the worst post ever.

ps- One of my co-workers smoked a joint in the leaky back room of the Esso with Alexisonfire last night.

april 7 2005

So I've been kind of busy lately, what with being unemployed and broke and skipping school and going to the Churchill Arms and sleeping on people's couches every night. Actually, that's kind of a lie. I went to a class today. No. I went to a class today--drunk. It was 11:30am. Fuck.

Anyway, I've been kind of busy lately. I somehow found time today to stop in at ye olde Esso to gossip with my ex-coworkers and crawl into that fun little bitter niche I've painstakingly carved out for myself in Esso-conversation. We talked about idiots, people getting fired, and McDonalds. The remainder of my visit kind of happened like this:

"Aw... I kind of miss it here. I like being an asshole with you guys."
"We're looking for people."
"Ha, I should come back."
"Ok."

Buddy picked up the phone and called the manager: "I have a recent ex-employee here who wants her job back. She's short. Guess who it is."

(note: she couldn't guess. She had no sweet clue. I was pissed off.)

He handed the phone to me. "Do you want a shift next Sunday?" Ok. And so it went. WELCOME BACK TO HELL, GABRIELLE. WE SAVED YOUR SEAT. IT'S STILL FUCKING WARM AND EVERYTHING! I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I still work at the Esso. I can't believe that I'd be this masochistic. What the fuck is wrong with me? This'll be the fourth summer in a row I get yelled at by tourists in gas-stained white pants who want desperately to get to Cavendish but can't figure out what fucking province they're even in.

april 9 2005

THE ESSO FUCKED ME OVER ALREADY. CAPS LOCK. It's only been TWO DAYS. Do only idiots run gas stations? There's got to be at least one or two other occupations for them out there, but they seem to concentrate on convenience stores and fucking up my life. Go away. The very first thing I made ridiculously clear to my manager was that I could not work any shifts at all until I was completely done school on Tuesday. Nothing until then. Nothing. The next words out of her mouth were, "Do you want a shift on Sunday?" (or you know, something like that). Of course I'm going to assume she meant next Sunday, as I had just finished being a dick about school. I didn't think she was that blatantly fucking stupid.

Of course she was. Of course. It's the goddamn Esso. Haven't I learned by now that things that work and make sense don't exist in the Esso Bubble? You would think. Obviously, I'm the idiot.

Anyway, I just found out about an hour ago that I actually work tomorrow morning. No one would have told me. I found out from Sharlene, who doesn't even work at the Esso. I flipped out and called my manager and she's not doing anything about it.

So, I'm not going. And I'm not going back. They can go to hell. I'm bailing on that trip. Subsequently,

5. If I get fired for not going tomorrow morning, I'll have wasted the three worst years of my life on a BAD REFERENCE FROM A GAS STATION. They might as well have shived me in the gut. I want to cry.

may 27 2005

My favourite part of the overnight shift is when I'm standing outside early in the morning, listening to the doves that live in the three inches of bird shit on top of the gas canopy, and looking across the dirty parking lot at the airport light that scrapes 4am like a giant windshield wiper.

Then I went inside and burned myself on the furnace.

june 18 2005

Speaking of the work week, I finished the first week at the new job. This is the first time in my entire life that I don't hate going to work, and trust me, that's saying something. A huge something. I'd never before felt such rage, frustration, and the pure need to jump out of a moving vehicle  until I was on my way to a 3 o'clock shift at the Esso. Arrving there and shuffling my way behind the counter every day to count the cigarettes and the dirty till was my worst horrible reoccuring nightmare, the kind that happen while you're awake and there's nothing you can do to wake yourself up. Ohhh. I went to cheese town on that one.

And on the topic of the Esso, apparently I just stopped showing up. No one actually got the message that I accepted a new job, so they decided it would be fun and awesome to schedule me for five shifts next week, all during times that I couldn't possibly come in even if I did still work there. I'm not calling to tell them, either.

I can't believe it happened again. I quit and no one believed me. I hope that place fucking burns down and I'm there to watch from a safe distance and scream horribly untasteful obscenities at the disaster. It would probably wipe out half of West Royalty, but as long as the Peter Pan is okay I'm okay. My WR shirts would become collectors items. Eat that, Esso.

Drunkard is a hilarious word. Let's go to the bulk barn and laugh at the huge tubs of pie filling.

THE END.