Convenience Store Chronicles
3 people just came in, two girls and a guy. I'm stocking the Camels on the very bottom row, so I'm sitting on the floor and merely turn around to say hello as they come in.
One girl is wearing a halter top (it's currently 38 degress outside), has on streetwalker makeup, and is sporting a big fat Joe's stamp on her right hand. Oh, well, that explains the hooker outfit and makeup. But what the hell? It's Tuesday. There's nothing going on in Deadwater on a Tuesday night. Is there?
The other girl's wearing a fuzzy yellow sweater and a HUGE Gore-Tex quilted vest. No stamp on her hand, no streetwalker makeup. Hmm. Yet she came in the same car as the other girl. Puzzling.
The guy heads straight for the bathroom. (Uh-oh.)
Gore-Tex perkily asks if she can still get a sub sandwich. That's how she said it, "sub sandwich". She asks this while looking at the empty Subway line--no meat, no cheese, no veggies, no dressing, standing right in front of the Big Red Sign that says "Sorry, we're closed!"
Such stupidity is not worth standing up for. From my cross legged position on the floor, I say, "No." She doesn't need an explanation. Presumably she can read. She'll figure it out eventually.
Gore-Tex wanders off in search of other edibles, while Halter Top sort of flutters around near the counter. Halter Top doesn't appear to want anything, just smiles nervously at me from time to time while glancing towards the bathroom. (Uh-oh.) Gore-Tex, having chosen suitable snack foods, comes back to the counter to pay for the stuff. Yay, I silently cheer. This means they'll leave soon.
I hate people who ask me if Subway's open at 2:00 in the damn morning. On general principle I also hate people who come into my store after having been "out". Grrr.
Meanwhile Halter Top is playing with a cell phone, which rings while she's messing with it. She takes the call while wandering in the general direction of the bathroom and back. I hear her say "He won't tell us where he lives!" Huh? After a minute or so, she hangs up, looking relieved. Then she informs me that it's not her phone. She and her friend gave Some Drunk Guy a ride home from wherever they were. It's HIS phone. He'd gotten kicked out and they found him wandering around in the parking lot. Being compassionate, and slightly less drunk, they offered to take him home. He accepted quickly enough, and got in the car, but now he won't tell them where he lives.
Great, I think to myself.
"Is this the guy who's in the bathroom now?" I ask.
"Uh, yeah, he's really messed up."
Apparently.
"Great," I say, aloud this time, as horror sinks in. He's been in there a while. I glare at her.
"Oh, I don't think he's going to throw up," she replies.
"You don't think?" I ask sarcastically. "He doesn't know where he lives."
"Yeah, well, let me go check on him."
She goes back to the men's room, and I hear her asking him, "Are you OK? Are you sure? Well, OK." She comes back and tells me again that she doesn't think he's barfed or anything.
"I hope not," I say. "I do NOT get paid enough to clean up bodily fluids. If he throws up, I'll rub his nose in it."
She laughs nervously. "Well, his friend called a minute ago and was like 'Where you at?' and I was like 'We have your friend and you need to come GET him because he like won't tell us where he lives n stuff', so he should be here in a minute."
At that moment, he staggers in slow motion out of the john. He bounces off one wall, staring vaguely up at the bright lights.
This guy is SERIOUSLY fucked up. He wanders off out into the parking lot, Halter Top following anxiously behind. I hear her ask him if he'd like to get back in the car where it's warm. Visibly shivering, he ignores her and spins around in a small circle near the car, then spirals off toward the fuel pumps. Halter Top goes to fetch him and leads him back to the car. He stands by the rear bumper, swaying gently and looking at his shoes.
I watch this, and on one level it's funny as hell. However, I can't stop thinking about what vile mound of human waste might be lurking in the men's room.
Drunk Guy finally feels the cold and heads back inside. He has some trouble with the door, but Halter Top comes to his rescue and opens it for him. He SO looks like he's going to ralph everywhere, and I glare some more. He then careens towards a booth and falls into it headfirst, somehow managing not to hit his head on the table. Halter Top arranges his limp body into a sitting position.
This chick is way too nurturing, especially to a sauced jackass of a stranger. I'd've left him in the booth and taken his cell phone and any cash in his wallet as payment for putting up with his drunk ass. But Halter Top stays by his side. For this I should be grateful, I suppose. If she weren't babysitting him, I'd have to.
Then a dark blue pickup truck screeches into the parking lot. Drunk Guy leaps gracelessly to his feet and lurches outside into the path of the truck, nearly getting himself run over in the process. I can hear him bellowing at his friend even through the closed doors. "IAN!!! Boy am I glad to see you, you motherfucker!"
Halter Top & Gore Tex drive off in their car, as I watch Ian shove Drunk Guy into the pickup. They also leave without further incident.
I can't quite bring myself to check the men's room just yet. I swear to god if he puked or shit in there, I'm just locking it and putting an "out of order" sign up.
--later--
When I finally did go in the men's room, I didn't find any vomit or feces. However, the floor was completely soaked with piss. We're talking a half inch of urine all over the floor. AGGGG! Yuck! I dumped half a bottle of disinfectant on it then mopped it up with bleach water. I need a raise.