The Graveyard Shift Diaries #3

Nightly Douchebaggery: Cont…

For some reason beyond my comprehension people cannot wrap their heads around the fact the store is closed. How dare I have the audacity to be inside while they’re outside! The stations whose convenience stores are open have two or more workers. We have one person, which means no store access from, 10p.m. to 6a.m. Our restrooms are inside the store. No restroom access should be obvious. It is not. This is a hassle. (Every. Night. For. Eight. Years.) It is utterly shocking how so many people cannot grasp unlocking the doors, at these hours, in this neighborhood (located in the California, Bay Area) is a plain bad idea. I am a young female for crying out loud. Even a big burly bastard can’t stop a bullet with all his burly. I had to purchase and make my own CLOSED sign. Why doesn’t one already exist? (Later I came to find out when a customer ratted on her that the other graveyard cashier was letting people in like a goddamn idiot making my job even harder. On my days off she was pretty much screwing me with the already impolite general public. But she also had police friends that would stay and chit chat through the night. I made it clear this was a problem so eventually she started closing the door. For the most part.) Having a homemade sign really does not help my cause. I foolishly thought having outside restrooms at the gas station directly across the street would help. But when I direct them to where they can freely relieve themselves it makes my adoring fans ever so much more perturbed. “I’m already here!” Is one of their many arguments. Another argument, “All the way across the street! I’ll go in my pants!” My response, “In the amount of time it has taken for you to try and convince me to open a closed store you could have been across the street.” No one appreciates my wisdom. Ninety-nine percent of the time this always ends with them informing me what a supreme bitch and horrible person I am. A girl even vowed to put a voodoo curse on me. Fuck that. Females have a habit of taking a moment to pause, stare me down and then declare, “You are so ugly. I just wanted to let you know that.” Well now I do hope you piss all over yourself. Oh and I can see the crabs trying to escape your crotch through the shirt your trying to call a dress. A girl always thinks calling another girl ugly is the worst thing they can say. But in my case insulting my intelligence was worse. The “guilt trippers” are my favorite. “What if you were out here about to pee your pants?” Said by women of the night. Again, a response that never seems to put a smile on anyone’s face, “I would go to a bathroom that’s open.” I would like to end that with, “…you cracked out twat.” Another female favorite, “I’m on my period, pleeeease!” Ugh god! Why do you think sharing TMI will get you into a CLOSED restroom. Now get back in the car chica and tell your drug runner boyfriend to drive you across the street. All you have to do is walk up, open door, sit on porcelain god and done deal. Men for the most part are the easiest to deal with when it comes to the poddy. A shrug and quick trip around the building to handle business. Done. One night however, that went horribly wrong…more on that later.



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