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January 07, 2005
A First Date
I used to work at a gas station, but not just any gas station, a gas station man's gas station. It was owned by a former truck driver. It was his idea of a gas station. The one he was looking forward to stopping at during all those years on the road.
He insisted we all wear uniforms. He ensured we never ran out of Sioux City Cream Soda or ephedrine. He demanded we brew fresh coffee if anyone ever questioned its freshness. He said customers were encouraged to hang out inside the building. That's how one of the former employees got in trouble.
One day when things were sort of slow the woman that worked the cash register asked me to watch it for a second while she emptied her colostomy bag. When she came back I asked her why "that guy that always smokes Pall Malls" hangs around so much. She said he worked at the gas station for a long time but was fired. He wanted his job back so kept showing up for his shift, it must have become a habit.
"Do you know why he got fired?"
She explained about the address system - how the pumps needed to be authorized at night and the cashier told people they were autorized by using it. He was inside talking to a friend one day when a hot girl came to fill up. He remarked about her "tits," "ass" and other stuff, but he must have been leaning on the mic button when he did it, so it broadcast to the entire gas station inside and out. Apparently she went berserk and when Fred, the owner, arrived she told him. Fred fired him on the spot to shut the girl up.
I went back to the deli to make more subs. I was the deli man every Tuesday and Thursday Sundays. That meant that I made subs and salads, broasted chicken and plunged the men's room toilet when it overflowed at least once every shift.
The deli was right inside the door, so that when customers walked in they saw my smiling face (occassionally blemished from the hot chicken broasting grease splashing up and burning me). Normally these customers only came inside for two reasons. One, to pay. Two, to find the bathroom. (Although there were also occassional male exhibitionists. As a result I unfortunately have the image an overweight man in nothing but grey sweat shorts walking in showing off his expansive beer belly and back hair burned into one of those easy-recall areas of my brain.) My favorite bathroom seaker was an old man that didn't speak English. He came directly up to me and said, "Blar blah garblah."
"What?"
"Blar blah garblah."
"Sorry, I don't understand."
It would have been safe to have assumed he was asking where he could find the constantly overflowing toilet but I figured there was always a chance someone would come in just for my delicious broasted chicken. It became clear to me that he wasn't asking for chicken, or even a sub when I saw him gesture toward his crotch.
He made the OK sign with his hands - thumb and forefinger together to make a circle with the other fingers sticking straight out. The weird thing was he was holding it backward - from the wrong side, his thumb and forefinger were closest to his body. "Crazy old man," I thought as I pointed around the corner to the bathroom soon to be full of sewage, if it wasn't already, "You're liable to pee on your hand that way."
The other days of the week the deli was ruled by Mrs. Burna. Mrs Burna was a fast food expert. Though she had never risen beyond the rank of "employee," not even to "shift manager," she had over 35 years of experience in the food service industry. She was a legend in my home town, especially after she got fired from Hardee's for being "too annoying to work with."
The "too annoying to work with" story may not have travelled quite as far and as fast as it did had she not worked with several of her daughter's classmates.
"Did you know Debbie's mom got fired from the Hardee's where I work?"
"No way, her mom worked with you?"
"Yeah, but she got fired for being 'too annoying to work with.' Swear to god. That's what the assistant manager said."
"Woah. So her mom is all weird too?"
"Yeah."
"Did you know Debbie doesn't know what a condom is? She says it's a house."
"Dude, she wears that Debbie Gibson t-shirt every day and doesn't even know who Debbie Gibson is."
"No way."
"Ask her, man."
I did. We all like talking to Debbie. She would stand outside school with a crowd of people around around her asking her questions, trying to talk to her, because of her borderline insanity.
Somehow my mom found out about this and considered it rude. She told me I'd be grounded for a year if I didn't take Debbie on a date.
"What?"
"You have to take her on a date."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Brian, you take her on a date or you're grounded for the rest of the year."
"You can't do that."
"Yes, I can." She was always home; she could. She had no social life outside of the bimonthly trip to the opera with a co-worker whose son cut out pieces of carpet to keep his parents' from seeing the stains.
"I can't date her. She's, like, retarded, mom. She's fat, ugly, and retarded."
"That's why you have to take her on a date."
"I can't date someone I don't want to. you can't make me do that."
"Well, you don't have to call it a date. You can call it hanging out or whatever, but you have to go out with her. Or I'll ground you."
"But what if people see us together?"
"You should have thought of that before you were mean to her."
"I was just asking her questions."
I ended up meeting Debbie at the bowling alley near her house. I figured no one my age would be at the bowling alley and I could meet her there. We played one game, and I talked my mom into paying for it.
It was over with before I knew it. No one saw us, and she never asked to do anything again. Plus my was off my case. But to this day I'll never take a date bowling.
Posted by calculatoronfire at January 7, 2005 01:38 PM
Comments
not even duckpin bowling???
Posted by: liveinlove at January 10, 2005 04:29 PM
You left out some important details as to exactly why you had to take Debbie out. You shouldn't lie (or leave out details) to make your readers believe you are a nice, kind, good, decent person. Tell the whole story if you are man enough. Mom might be crazy but she wouldn't ground you for a year for asking a girl questions; no matter how mean.
Posted by: Nick at January 11, 2005 08:39 AM
I didn't mean to confuse. I've never been duckpin bowling myself and therefore do not, as of yet, have duckpin bowling scars.
So I guess I could take a date duckpin bowling. Maybe I should because it sounds so cool.
As for the whole truth...Ha! I laugh at that suggestion.
I like giving the (false. ha ha) impression that I am a decent person.
So Dan O'meara started poking her in the back with a marker, and then about five or six other 6th graders joined in including me. So the timeline is all screwed up because no one actually had a job with Debbie's mom at the time of the forced date incident. On second thought that came a couple years later. So what?
Those are unimportant details.
Who the hell would force their son to go out with a girl? Any girl? But especially a borderline retarded girl with bad hygiene and little half moon shaped yellowish green teeth?
My mom. That's who.
And she did make a big deal of my friends and I talking to her at school. For a while she tried to convince me that I actually liked her because we talked to her so much.
Thanks for pointing out that I was a mean little shit back in the day and I am actually not a decent person.
Posted by: brian at January 11, 2005 10:41 AM