Now, if you don’t already know (which is pretty likely), my current occupation is working at a gas station on graveyard shift. Now, I’ve done this for several reasons. One, I work alone. Two, my friends can come in and we can bullshit for hours, and no one is around to run them out. As well, not as many people come in, and I get paid a lot more then my day shift counterparts. Of course, there can be a few drawbacks. The night holds the ugliest, vilest people that have ever walked the earth. It’s a constant parade of people that look like they should be on the wanted posters of child rapists that we have up on the front door. In fact, I may have seen of few of them. But I digress, this is yet another exciting journey through the night with me as your host. The excitement is building.

Why thank you Hitler, I try my best.

9:58 p.m: I arrive. Beardo (I changed his name for security reasons. Or maybe it’s because I don’t know his name and just call him Beardo.) was just finishing up. After he purchased a Maxim, which those whores wrapped in plastic meaning I can’t read it for free, he left and my night began.

10:02 p.m: Customer number one! Tradition dictates that the first customer will always be a scrota bag with clothes caked in filth. The tradition continues. He asks me why people have to prepay for gas, I tell him it’s because people drive off without paying. I don’t include that it’s almost always people that look like him. Out of my store faggot.

10:07 p.m: My considerate co-workers leave all sorts of cups and wrappers for me to clean up. Rat bastards.

10:15 p.m: 2 girls I know quite well enter. They come every weekend, and I also went to high school with them. And as always, it’s the same fucking story. The one makes comments like “I’m so pathetic, I can only put in (at this point, she pulls out a pocketful of change and counts it) 4 dollars and 38 cents.” The other sits in the background looking incredibly embarrassed. And they damn well should be, and I hope they know how pissed off I get having to roll pennies. I guess they think since they know me, it’s less embarrassing. Whatever, out of my store bitches.

10:47 p.m: The only bright spot so far, as I get to go and check out the new cars as the deliver them to the dealership across the street. Yes, it’s a shitty bright spot, but I take what I get. Then I look around the store for something edible, and come up empty. I also notice a lot of our products are expired. I believe I’ll eat at home.

10:52 p.m: YES, propane excitement. What I truly hate about it is that 90% of my customers park in front of the propane pump, so I can never differentiate who wants it and who doesn’t. But experience dictates to me that only shitty looking trucks and east Indians are the ones that need it. Experience is correct again.

11:15 p.m: More propane for 15 minutes. The people that install the valves for filling the propane tanks must be sadistic, because they are almost always right at the very bottom of the vehicle. After I get a nice burn (when it sprays out, it might burn your hands because of the temperature of propane when its liquid, which is really fucking cold) the guy asks me to check his oil. Sorry asshole, this isn’t full service, I’m only filling it because I’m licenced. Also, the big fat tattooed bald guy waiting for me to turn on the gas pump wouldn’t be happy if I made him wait any longer.

11:17 p.m: Now, there’s a few things that we are not. A visitors booth for asking directions, a super market, or a mechanics shop. This guy comes and asks for a 5/8 wrench or something along those lines because he’s broken down on the highway. Sorry my unkempt friend, but do I look like a guy in a greasy jumpsuit with the name Buck emblazoned on it? And do my fingers have an eternal layer of grease on them? Yes, the answer is no, and you must get out before I smash your face in with one of the rock hard expired chocolate bars we have in stock.

11:26 p.m: Now, we had a new system installed on the computer last week, and this was the first time it crashed for me. And when this thing crashes, it fucking crashes. The cash register won’t open, the pumps won’t turn on, and the debit card (if you don’t know what that is you’re an idiot. You might call it a bank card, I don’t know with you crazy yanks.) machine was fucked to Hell. At least I got to chat with an attractive young lady while I restarted it. The score? Soul sucking job:213, me:2.

11:41 p.m: Some faggy fag comes in and asks if we have a toilet. Now, every time someone comes into the store, and they ask that question first, I know they aren’t going to buy anything. So I feel it’s my responsibility to the company to be as rude as possible. I continue to read my book and just point at the key without saying a word. I find not even talking to the customer is the best way to be an asshole.

11:56 p.m: Boredom compels me to play scratch and win lottery tickets. I always play the 3 dollar ones by the way. I win 6 dollars at first, play 2 more, win 3 dollars, play one more, and lose. So yes, I wasted 6 dollars, not once, but twice. But like I said, it killed my boredom for a few minutes. Score one for me.

12:06 a.m: A car load of guys pulls up. They all have their hair like Eminem. Fucking Hell, I can’t help but chuckle just a little. First they ask where a certain dance club is. Fags. I don’t know of course, so then they ask where the border (that being the border between Canada and the U.S.) is. They needed to get home. Very smart, come to a different country looking for a place that you have know clue as to where its located, then get lost. I suggest driving south, you’ll come to the border eventually. It was a joke of course, but it seemed to be good enough for them.

12:12 a.m: Delightful, one of my regular customers come in. Please take note that most of my regulars are walking plagues that roam the earth. I also give them pet names. I call this one ‘herpes face’. I call her that because it looks like she has herpes on her face. (Why else would I call her that?) She asks me the same exact thing every time she comes in. “Do you have matches?” No cunt, we don’t. “Why?” Propane regulation. “Can I get some ZigZags then? And a lighter.” (*Note, ZigZags are a product that people use to roll marijuana. Technically its to roll cigarettes, but lets be realistic here, herpes face looks like she would need marijuana just so she won’t kill herself over looking like a skanky whore.) She finally leaves. She kills my penis just a little bit every time she’s around.

1:08 a.m: I stock pop for just about and hour. Also, I manage to bang my head on the cooler twice, resulting in a long string of expletives. Hopefully, this isn’t the night my manager will check when reviewing me. I don’t think yelling “You dirty cock sucking mother fucking son of a whore” is going to get me that raise I’ve been wanting.

1:10 a.m: The same exact scrubby bastard that asked for the wrench came back fo the third time (came back once before, but that was unimportant.) He bought some gas, and used the bathroom. What’s pathetic is he drove off with the bathroom key. Now, the key is connected to a foot (seriously) of metal. How one can drive away not knowing they have a foot of fucking metal in their pocket seriously makes me question why killing people with IQs under 70 is not a good thing.

1:37 a.m: Kettle cooked jalapeno and cheddar chips, delicious. Wild Cherry Pepsi, not so delicious.

Not so delicious.

2:02 a.m: Another regular came in, but luckily I know him better then the others. He’s also a poor ass that borrows a quarter for the phone every time he’s around. This time however, he borrows 2 chocolate bars. He paid it back an hour later, but that’s a weird thing to “borrow”. This same guy has asked me to go around back to smoke pot/get drunk with him about 7 times. Every time I tell him to ask me off camera. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I’d be happy to though, it might make the hours go faster.

2:20 a.m: Dear God no. A 32 year old came in wearing clothes that belong on a 16 year old. I don’t think I should describe this, it’s far too disgusting. 2 words, overlapping belly. Saggy whore, out of my store.

3:25 a.m aka, PAIN: The sky became as dark as pitch, and the moon as red as blood. Out of the night came the stench, the horrid, horrid stench. And he appeared. The worst human being on earth, the bane of my graveyard shift existence. The Smelly Bastard. Yes, he’s a regular, and yes, I hate him. In fact, I can’t even begin to explain how much. From the lovely name I gave him, you already know that he smells. Badly. It’s like a mix of rotting cat litter and methane fumes. Every time he’s around, it cuts into my nostril like a knife, and makes me lightheaded. As well, he’s about the ugliest human alive. His bottom teeth come out overtop of his upper lip, his face looks like it was melted by radiation, and his clothes, oh God. He wears the same thing everyday, a really gross brown coat, and a flannel shirt just caked in food stains. In a word, disgusting. His vehicle is a shit brown (that’s ironic. You’ll find out why in a minute) van, and he weighs about 400 pounds. He comes in EVERY FUCKING NIGHT I WORK, and buys the same thing. A 1 litre Diet Coke, and an obscure chocolate bar called Mirage. It’s basically an Aero bar, except named after those things you see in the desert when you hallucinate from dehydration. And everything he pays with is warm. His bank card, bills, change, all of it. It’s just sick. Once he handed me some dimes with puberty hairs on them. I washed my hand for 5 minutes. That’s usually it, and afterwards I have to air out the store for a good 10 minutes. But lately, it’s been much, MUCH, worse. He’s been using the bathroom. In fact, the first time he did it in super ninja style, because I didn’t even see him take the key. And believe me, after I saw what he did in there, I wouldn’t have. It was unspeakable, but since I hate you all, I’ll go into detail. First, every scrap of paper was used, and covered in excretion. 2, there was shit all over the toilet, including on the OUTSIDE. Is that even physically possible to do? And the smell, his own stench multiplied by 10000. I’m just glad the bathroom was outside, because I coughed up some bile. After that beautiful time, I tired to make it so he wouldn’t use the bathroom. He would ask for the key, I would say no, but it’s like he doesn’t listen. He just takes it and goes. Once he had gotten shit on his shoes. On his fucking shoes. This guy needs a pipe or something inserted in his ass so it won’t splatter all over the floor. Luckily for me, the day shift cleans the bathroom, and I can use the ladies room. And the ladies keep that place spotless. Well, he went easy on me today, and stayed clear of the toilet. Praise Jesus.

Special Bonus: See a picture of the Smelly Bastard himself.
Click here mother fucker.

Second Bonus: A special comic starring the Smelly Bastard. Comic bonus, lots of Nazis.
Click here now.

3:52 a.m: After that bit of unpleasantness, another regular came in. I know him pretty well, but the best part about this guy is that he’s a bootlegger, and sells his alcohol in the parking lot. He also gives me tips, which is incredibly rare. He’s also a fat disgusting slob, but at least he doesn’t shit all over the bathroom floor.

4:00 - 6:00 a.m: That was really where my night ended actually. Just some dull chores, cigarette counting, etc. My assistant manager came in, and I was free to go and somehow block this night out of my mind. Except for this report of course.

-Seru40