How to participate in Full Service Gas Stations...
I feel the need to write this, despite my limited audience because god damn it, it need to be written.
Some of you may be unfamiliar with full service gas stations, and I figure I would help out my fellow jaded feul monger and dispersal agents with this little do's and don't list.
DO's
-Say please and thank you. It seems like a little thing but when the attendant walks up to your window and you say "Fill it up" in a curt voice, we secretly wish we worked at a resteraunt so we could spit in your food and piss in your decaf.
- Feel free to ask me to do a few extra little things. This does not mean that I am a fully trained auto mechanic, so no I don't know what that fucking noise is or how much a new carberator costs for a 1983 dodge dart. I can check your oil and you tire pressure, that's about it.
-Tip. If you ask me to wash your windows, check your tires, check your fluids and things like that, tip. These are things that any human being with a pulse can do and you are too lazy/stupid/old to do it your self. I provided you with a service and generally this is met with compensation. This doesn't have to be much. More than a dollar is embarassing, less is insulting. I am especially looking at the lady who comes in behind her 18 year old son's car and has me go ovr his car with a fine tooth comb every week without any recompense. This is why young men need father figures or at least a mom who knows how to check her fucking oil. Grow a pair, sonny jim.
DON'Ts
-Get out of the fucking car. I repeat! Do. Not. Get. Out. Of. The. Car. No one comes to your job and stares over your shoulder
awkwardly, don't do it to me. If you were goign to get out of the fucking car why did you come to a full service gas station. Pump your own fucking gas.
-Talk to me unless I engage. This sounds like a prick-ish thing and it probably is, but seriously I don't fucking care and I feel I should be honest. I really don't care your mom died. I don't care about your son competing in the circle jerk competition. I spend most of my day barely refraining from strangling the patrons of the shop and you are not helping.
- Tell me how to do my job. I don't think this needs and explanation.
-Tell me you are paying with cash then hand me a check. That was not one of the options when I asked "Cash or Credit", was it?
-Intterupt me. I understand you come to our establishment all the time, but let me finish my spiel, alright? It takes me two fucking seconds to get through "Good (insert time of day here), sir/ma'am, what can I do for you?" so don't reattle off what you need the second I get to the window, alright? It's fucking rude. You don't start yelling what you want for your fat retarded children at the drive thru window the second you pull up, so give me the same courtesy jack-ass.
- Get mad at me for washing your fucking window. Only two or three people have, but still. Fuck you. Your car is filthy and me washing your window didn't make it any worse. Yes some of the dirty washer fluid dipped onto you car. Whoopdie fucking doodle. If you back window is dirty than the rest of it probably is too.
-Assume I know everything there is to know about cars. I am a gas pumper. That is it. I am not a trained mechanic. I do not know about car beyond the requirements of my job. Do not assume that because I work at a gas station that I love to talk about cars. I don't. Thats stupid and boring and I don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock about your brand new audi what the fuck ever. I know where gas goes. I know where oil and most other fluids go. I know the most basic functions of the cars parts. Other than that I don't care. Shut up.
-Fuck Nascar. There's no don't there, really. Seriously though, fuck nascar.
-Get impatient because I am not at your fucking window the second your car stops moving. Dear consumer, the world does not revolve around you. I have many tasks that I must attend to during my day and you are one of them, but not the only one. Give me a fucking break alright. Don't lean on the horn when you can clearly see me on the phone. I would not remain on the phone once you pulled up if it was not important. Seriously, just because you are in a hurry doesn't make me go faster, quite the opposite really. When some one tells me they are in a hurry and that I need to go faster, I go slower because I am a petty spiteful little man. Get over yourself.
-Patronize me. I know what I'm doing and I am not a child. I will not let gas spill on your precious car. I will not dent or scratch it in any way. I am not a retard because I work in a service job.
That's about all I can think of. Follow these rules and I will not wish your death and try to kill you with my mind.
And to our housemate...You breath like a four hundred pound man after awkwardly jogging for 20 feet. Seriously, what the fuck? I CAN HEAR YOU FROM UPSTAIRS!!!!!! You must understand how angry this must make me to forget about my pet peeves of caps and multiple punctuation points.
Some of you may be unfamiliar with full service gas stations, and I figure I would help out my fellow jaded feul monger and dispersal agents with this little do's and don't list.
DO's
-Say please and thank you. It seems like a little thing but when the attendant walks up to your window and you say "Fill it up" in a curt voice, we secretly wish we worked at a resteraunt so we could spit in your food and piss in your decaf.
- Feel free to ask me to do a few extra little things. This does not mean that I am a fully trained auto mechanic, so no I don't know what that fucking noise is or how much a new carberator costs for a 1983 dodge dart. I can check your oil and you tire pressure, that's about it.
-Tip. If you ask me to wash your windows, check your tires, check your fluids and things like that, tip. These are things that any human being with a pulse can do and you are too lazy/stupid/old to do it your self. I provided you with a service and generally this is met with compensation. This doesn't have to be much. More than a dollar is embarassing, less is insulting. I am especially looking at the lady who comes in behind her 18 year old son's car and has me go ovr his car with a fine tooth comb every week without any recompense. This is why young men need father figures or at least a mom who knows how to check her fucking oil. Grow a pair, sonny jim.
DON'Ts
-Get out of the fucking car. I repeat! Do. Not. Get. Out. Of. The. Car. No one comes to your job and stares over your shoulder
awkwardly, don't do it to me. If you were goign to get out of the fucking car why did you come to a full service gas station. Pump your own fucking gas.
-Talk to me unless I engage. This sounds like a prick-ish thing and it probably is, but seriously I don't fucking care and I feel I should be honest. I really don't care your mom died. I don't care about your son competing in the circle jerk competition. I spend most of my day barely refraining from strangling the patrons of the shop and you are not helping.
- Tell me how to do my job. I don't think this needs and explanation.
-Tell me you are paying with cash then hand me a check. That was not one of the options when I asked "Cash or Credit", was it?
-Intterupt me. I understand you come to our establishment all the time, but let me finish my spiel, alright? It takes me two fucking seconds to get through "Good (insert time of day here), sir/ma'am, what can I do for you?" so don't reattle off what you need the second I get to the window, alright? It's fucking rude. You don't start yelling what you want for your fat retarded children at the drive thru window the second you pull up, so give me the same courtesy jack-ass.
- Get mad at me for washing your fucking window. Only two or three people have, but still. Fuck you. Your car is filthy and me washing your window didn't make it any worse. Yes some of the dirty washer fluid dipped onto you car. Whoopdie fucking doodle. If you back window is dirty than the rest of it probably is too.
-Assume I know everything there is to know about cars. I am a gas pumper. That is it. I am not a trained mechanic. I do not know about car beyond the requirements of my job. Do not assume that because I work at a gas station that I love to talk about cars. I don't. Thats stupid and boring and I don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock about your brand new audi what the fuck ever. I know where gas goes. I know where oil and most other fluids go. I know the most basic functions of the cars parts. Other than that I don't care. Shut up.
-Fuck Nascar. There's no don't there, really. Seriously though, fuck nascar.
-Get impatient because I am not at your fucking window the second your car stops moving. Dear consumer, the world does not revolve around you. I have many tasks that I must attend to during my day and you are one of them, but not the only one. Give me a fucking break alright. Don't lean on the horn when you can clearly see me on the phone. I would not remain on the phone once you pulled up if it was not important. Seriously, just because you are in a hurry doesn't make me go faster, quite the opposite really. When some one tells me they are in a hurry and that I need to go faster, I go slower because I am a petty spiteful little man. Get over yourself.
-Patronize me. I know what I'm doing and I am not a child. I will not let gas spill on your precious car. I will not dent or scratch it in any way. I am not a retard because I work in a service job.
That's about all I can think of. Follow these rules and I will not wish your death and try to kill you with my mind.
And to our housemate...You breath like a four hundred pound man after awkwardly jogging for 20 feet. Seriously, what the fuck? I CAN HEAR YOU FROM UPSTAIRS!!!!!! You must understand how angry this must make me to forget about my pet peeves of caps and multiple punctuation points.