Gas Station Daze: Part 3: Read the Sign, Hey?

I didn't have to wash dishes too long after I was let go from my first gas station job. I had another gas station job within six months. My first impression of my new boss was he would be someone hard to work for, but I had been referred to him, so I took the job.

He was the type of boss who would say something completely off the wall with a straight face but actually be joking. It took me awhile to figure out when he was joking and when he was serious. He rarely got angry, but when he did, you knew it. The best thing to do when he was angry was to keep your mouth shut and not make excuses.

This boss came to work seven days a week. On Sundays and on the major holidays when we were open he was there just long enough to do the book work. He kept the station opened the first Thanksgiving Day I work there, but since business was so slow he closed on following Thanksgiving Days. Christmas was the only other holiday the station was closed.

Next to the station was a fast food restaurant and on the other side of the restaurant was another service station. They normally sold their gas for one cent per gallon less then we did, but they were self-serve. We pumped the gas and the customers had to check their own oil, wash the windshield and whatever else the customers wanted checked. However, if the customer asked, we would normally do it unless we were too busy (there were times we were literally running from car to car ). If it was an old lady or man, we normally asked if they wanted us to do these things. (And of course, still being a young man, I almost always asked the pretty young women. However by this time, this extended to the young women who were nice and said, "Please," and "Thank you," no matter what I thought about their cuteness or lack thereof.)

There was a big sign that said, We pump the gas, you do the rest. At times that sign could have been in ten foot, red neon, flashing letters and people still wouldn't have seen it. It didn't bother me too much unless we got a string of customers coming in asking for the service. One such day happened on a Canadian holiday. I believe it was Canada Day. Back in those days Canadian money was worth more than American money so many Canadians would venture down.

On this particular day the Canadians streamed into the station all day long. They hit us on the way down and then again on their way back. And it seemed as if they all said the exact same thing. "Fill it up, check the oil, and wash the windshield, hey?" I don't know what bothered me the most, them asking me to do all of these things or the "hey?" at the end of the sentence. It wasn't until my shift was half over that I started complaining to my follow attendant.

"Can't Canadians read?" I asked the attendant working with me.

"I don't know," he answered. "I'm not from Canada."

"I know that. You can read. And what's the deal with saying, 'Hey'"?

"I don't know, hey?" my coworker replied.

About that time a car pulled in so I said, "It's your turn, hey?"

"I guess so, hey?"

"Then you better get out there, hey?"

"I'm going, hey?" he said as he left the building.

My shift was nearly over when I told my coworker that the next Canadian who came in and said, "Fill it up, check the oil, and wash the windshield, hey?" I was going to point at the sign and say, "Read the sign, hey?"

I no more said that when a car pulled in. I glanced at the license plate as I strolled by the front of the car. British Columbia. "Here we go," I said to myself and prepared to tell him to read the sign.

"Fill her up, check the oil and wash the windshield, hey?" the man said.

I pointed at the sign and said, "Read the sign, hey?"

The man read the sign and said, "Sorry," and started to get out of the car.

Instead of feeling better, I felt like a real idiot. So I said, "Never mind, I'll do it."

The man said, "No that's fine, I'll do it."

So I put the gas nozzle in the tank and, while he checked the oil, I washed his windshield. When the tank was full, I collected the money and thanked him. Once I was back in the station, I said to my coworker, "I'm never doing that again. I felt like a real dimwit standing there telling the guy to read the sign. It's obviously just what they say when they pull into a gas station in Canada."

My coworker said, "Taking your frustrations out on a costumer isn't such a good idea, hey?"

"No it's not," I said. After that I kept my frustrations to myself whenever I dealt with a costumer.

Watch for Part 4: Flat Tire!

Have you read Part 1: Hot Young Women?

Have you read Part 2: Robbed?

Have you ever did something to a customer you wish you hadn't? Tell me about in the comments.