LOL, that reminds me of a non-pickle another night at the gas station. Actually, it reminds me of a funny thing and yet another severe pickle. These are some humorous TRUE accounts of things that happened to me while I was working at the Shell gas station down the street from where I live in 2005-2006.
This one homeless guy who wasn't one of the 'clique' around that area, came in to buy a 40. He plops down a bunch of change on the counter and doesn't know how much it is. It's about 75 cents short, so I tell him to go get 75 cents and come back later if he wants the damn beer that badly. He takes his change and leaves, and I think I've seen the last of him for the night. Nope. He comes back about half an hour later and plops some change down on the counter. Guess what? It was the EXACT SAME AMOUNT AS BEFORE, down to the freakin' penny. I laughed at him and told him not to come back again, wasting my fucking time counting his filthy freakin' change and making keep the cooler open almost until it was time to lock it down.
But here's a REAL pickle. You guys have all GOT to read this one! And I have to say, you can NOT make something like this up, this ACTUALLY HAPPENED, I swear to (well, I'm an atheist, so...I swear on something someone else believes in) that down to the last detail, this was all true.
So it's about 1:50 AM and it's ten minutes until I have to lock up the beer cooler for the night. I'm out in the parking lot sweeping up, ready to go inside and lock it up five minutes before 2:00, just to be safe and since the clocks on the wall are all fast, I felt justified. There's this van parked next to the dumpster in the parking lot, and I'm staring at them, since it's a rather odd spot to park in, whether day or night. But I ignored them, figuring they weren't hurting anyone and I'd already taken out all the garbage that night and thrown it in the dumpster. I went back inside and locked the cooler and a customer came in; a white girl who was about four feet tall, dressed like the craziest looking hooker you have ever seen. I mean, she's wearing these cut-off jean short-shorts that are riding up her ass like nobody's business, she's wearing hot pink fishnets with wide holes between the threads, old-fashioned hi-top shoes, and a hot pink wife beater that's barely covering her belly button. She was kind of cute though, aside from the freaky initial appearance. Surprisingly she spoke perfectly articulately and was very polite. She bought a sandwich, some chips and a soda, nothing out of the ordinary. Then the van pulls up right on the handicap ramp in front of the door.
In it are four overweight black women, I would guess the average weight of the four of them being 250+ pounds each, and one skinny black man who was about 5'5" tall. The man sticks his head out the window of the backseat and asks if he can buy a beer. I tell him the thing is locked, and he says it's still three minutes until 2:00. I tell him that by the time I ring up this nice young lady (the one dressed like Frankenhooker) and he grabs a beer and brings it up to the counter, it'll be 2:00. So then he accuses me of being a racist and just not wanting to sell him a beer because he's black.
Let me digress and say that I hate when people do that. My boss was a Hindu from India for crying out loud, not white, so how could I get away with racism like that and keep my job for that long? And for the record, I could give a rat's ass who buys a beer that my boss is going to probably make only 50 cents profit from, so accusing me of being a racist for that is stupid since that fifty cents helps keep my paychecks coming. One time, the ATM in the store was empty, and this black guy comes in and tries to use it. "Hey, there's something wrong with your machine, it ain't taking my card." he says. I shrug and tell him there's nothing I can do about it, my boss is the only one with the key and the cash to fill it. So he brings his card up to the counter so I can give him some cashback out of the register, expecting not to have to buy anything OR pay a fee, and get something like forty dollars back. I can't give more than $5 cash back at the register, and even if I could, I saw the reason his card wouldn't work; it was so bent out of shape it looked more like a chewed-up dog toy than an ATM card. So he accuses me of being a racist and just not wanting to give him any cash back. Not only that, he goes on to accuse me of having a button under the register that disables the ATM. How retarded is that? Some people, I swear, they have to believe EVERYTHING is someone else's fault. There's no such thing as just bad luck, someone is always out to get them.
Anyway, back to the story. So I apologize to the guy and tell him that if they weren't all sitting in the parking lot in their van next to the dumpster for 15 minutes, they might have had time to buy some beer before I went inside and locked it. So the five of them starts cursing me out amongst themselves, and then the one guy in the van, who by the way, was speaking very, very effeminately, started hooting at the hooker-looking girl (which, I mean, is understandable since, come on, she looked like a freaking prostitute.) "Hey, bitch, come over here. Let me holla at you, ho." he said.
I had never seen someone's eyes catch on fire before that night. This little hooker-girl turned military-style toward him, marched to the door and nearly bit the guy's nose off, but stopped short and started screaming about how dare he talk to her like that, he has no right to say such things to her and she can dress however she wants and should not be judged. I mean, I agreed with her to some degree since I don't like being judged for being overweight, but still, this was getting out of hand.
So the black guy shouts back at her, "Get up off me, ho, or my baby mama will kick your ass!" And I guess this very effeminate-voiced man wasn't gay after all because the woman sitting next to him (I assume she was his baby mama that he was talking about) stuck her head out the window and said, "Yeah!" in agreement to his statement.
So the hooker-girl retreated back into the store and asked me to call the police, while I was scared shitless of having four three-hundred pound black women beating the living shit out of me while the police would take their customary 35 minutes to respond.
Thank my lucky stars that less than thirty seconds later, a car pulled up needing gas, and two hulking bouncers from the club up the street got out and were ready to help us control the situation. Man, that was freakin' intense. The hooker girl thanked me for not yelling or escalating the situation, and she admitted she was ashamed for losing her temper and she even continued to shop at the gas station occasionally. And thus ends my tale.