A closed casket escapade — Hair Shirt Chronicles

I learned what some had called the dignity of work by putting a three foot ruler into the depths of an embedded fuel tank to measure the levels of dyed diesel and 87 octane gas. This was before we grew corn to have more fuel trucks. We could smoke on the job but could not buy cigarettes. We could ring up twelve packs of Bud diesel and MGD, paid for out of our $4.25 an hour wages, and sneak it out into the back in empty cardboard boxes.

I carded a 38 year old once, and he yelled at me. Said he was coming from his dad’s wake. Everyone is, I want my 15 year old self to have responded.

I remember one local drunk who apparently did excellent finish carpentry and could charge to an account of his general but we were only supposed to let him charge one case each day, usually before noon and sometimes shortly after we opened. He would spit on the floor and then look at me like I should immediately come and clean it up. With a mop i suppose.

We used cleaning spray on the hot dog machine because it seemed easier than scraping distaff chuff of hot dog grease. The hot dogs would have bubbles on them. No one who was willing to feast on a gas station hot dog thought twice about this

Once an adult came in leading a large bellowing developmentally disabled teenager into the bathroom. They left soiled underwear on the floor. Didn’t buy anything. I left it for the manager who made $11 an hour.