This morning I was running late to work. As is usually the case when running late, the car was running on empty so I pulled in to the local gas station in Oak View to fill up. Naturally, the machine at the pump was out of order so I actually had to go into the station to pay at the register. Sometimes I forget how little human interaction is required in our society these days. Must be why we are all so conscientious...
A turquoise Pontiac Grand Prix, circa mid-90's, had arrived at the same time as me. A young man, about 25-28, with slicked-back hair and a moustache, wearing baggy pants and a big Raiders jacket got out of the passenger seat, walked around the parking area for a minute, then approached the gas station store. He arrived at the door about two nanoseconds before me and rushed in. Nevermind that he didn't bother with holding the door - a girl never expects that anymore. Not pulling it closed would have been a nice gesture, though. Thank you women's rights activists.
Anyhow, the guy came in to inquire about the Help Wanted signs in the parking lot. He was polite to the clerk saying, "excuse me" and "sir" but there was something off about him. He was one of those white guys who talks like a street guy/gang member, saying "man", "aaahreyt" and "I see how it is". He even walked with an interesting gait, like he had a limp or something. Perhaps he had been shot in the gang wars of Oak View? I, of course, just wanted to slap my $20 down and get back to the pump. But the guy kept talking to the clerk. The clerk, who didn't speak English well - or more likely was pretending not to speak English to get rid of this guy, told him to come back after 2pm when the manager was there. It was clear to me that he didn't know anything about the job opening and the boss would be back after 2 pm. The white guy was getting impatient and wanted an application and continued to press the clerk for information on the job - What shift was it for? Hourly rate? Do employees get discounts on Olde English? After a few minutes he gave up and walked away. I paid the clerk and went out to pump.
As I was at the pump the white guy was leaning against the hood of the Pontiac complaining about never getting a fair chance and discrimination and f***ing Mexicans getting all the good jobs, and how that guy inside couldn't even speak English, yada, yada, yada. I wonder how many people think being a clerk at the local Thrifty Gas is good job, one to aspire to and feel cheated about not getting.
Someone was responding to his complaints, a female. Curious about what sort of woman this guy could attract, I looked over to see who he was with...I hadn't even turned my head when I heard, "It's alright honey, we'll find you something." He replied, "I know mom", then took another drag on his cigarette.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment