A Slurpee, A Pack Of Marlboros, And All Your Money...
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| Me, in 1978 wearing clean underwear |
The
7-Eleven Store around the corner from me seems to have quite a problem
getting and keeping employees. Unfortunately the one employee that they
seem hang on to, is the worst one they have. It's not that she isn't a
nice person, she's nice enough. The problem is that she's a slow,
bumbling, moron, who cannot multi-task. When she's working, the line at
the counter usually stretches all the way back to the Slurpee® Machine
because somebody has given her five dollars and twenty three cents for a
four dollar and twenty three cent purchase, and is asking for the
change in the form of lotto quick pick. You can actually see the smoke
coming from her ears as her brain overloads.
Now I don’t usually belittle those who are employed at lower wage jobs, because I know that they are working hard at a shitty job. I also don’t make fun because thirty years ago I worked at a 7-Eleven in Oakland, California, and it was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. For three months I worked the 11PM to 7AM shift, at a store on one of Oakland’s busiest boulevards, which meant that the holdup men had an easy way to escape. Back then they didn’t have self-serve Slurpees® and it never failed that when I got a rush of customers, some little teenybopper assholes would come in and order Slurpees® and cigarettes. Usually while I was distracted getting them their Slurpees®, another one would be stealing a six pack of beer from the cooler at the opposite end of the store. My only revenge was selling them the cigarettes, and hoping they got cancer in thirty years.
The night that finally convinced me to get out of the 7-Eleven business, was the night a guy pulled a gun on me and took all the money in the register. Later that night while I was cleaning the poop out of my underpants, I decided it was time to look for another job. I did work there for one more week, but after the same guy who robbed me came in to buy cigarettes, glaring at me the whole time, I quit. I just didn’t like cleaning the poop out of my underwear.
Now I don’t usually belittle those who are employed at lower wage jobs, because I know that they are working hard at a shitty job. I also don’t make fun because thirty years ago I worked at a 7-Eleven in Oakland, California, and it was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. For three months I worked the 11PM to 7AM shift, at a store on one of Oakland’s busiest boulevards, which meant that the holdup men had an easy way to escape. Back then they didn’t have self-serve Slurpees® and it never failed that when I got a rush of customers, some little teenybopper assholes would come in and order Slurpees® and cigarettes. Usually while I was distracted getting them their Slurpees®, another one would be stealing a six pack of beer from the cooler at the opposite end of the store. My only revenge was selling them the cigarettes, and hoping they got cancer in thirty years.
The night that finally convinced me to get out of the 7-Eleven business, was the night a guy pulled a gun on me and took all the money in the register. Later that night while I was cleaning the poop out of my underpants, I decided it was time to look for another job. I did work there for one more week, but after the same guy who robbed me came in to buy cigarettes, glaring at me the whole time, I quit. I just didn’t like cleaning the poop out of my underwear.
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