I love stories relating to gas stations. I don't know why. I used to work at a gas station. Here are some of my stories:

Washing A Pick-up With Gasoline

A guy drives into the station in a pick up truck. The guy I am working with turns to me and says "I hate this guy. If you take care of him then I will do the next ten cars." I had never seen the guy before, so I descided to see what all the fuss was about. Besides, it's always nice to sit on my ass when I can.

So I am walking out to the truck and I see that he is starting to pump his own gas. He has his gas tank open and has the nozzle in his hand. Unfortunatly he had the handle depressed when he turned the pump on. Gas started spraying out and the customer started waving the hose around for some reason. He managed to cover his truck and the interiour of his cab with gasoline. Next he pushes the nozzle into his gas tank opening. SPLASH! The sprayback covered him from head to foot. My coworker was roaling around on the floor laughing. I was starting to crack up myself. The owner of the truck was screaming "FSCK!" over and over. It was great :).

I'll Show You, I'll Destroy My Own Car!

This guy pulls in driving some shiny red car (can't remember what). He opens the window about 2 mm and says somthing quiet and unintelegable. I say "I am sorry, I can't hear you." He repeats whatever he said the first time, just as quietly. Again I say "I am sorry, I can't hear you." The driver then opens his door and screams "I fscking said fill it up!"

So I fill it up, with regular (regular is the default). As I am finishing up the guy gets out of his car and looks that the nozzle I am holding. It is attached to the regular pump. The guy asks "Is that fucking regular?" I say "yes". Then the guy goes ape shit. He starts jumping around and screaming his head off. Then he starts to KICK HIS OWN CAR. He put a big dent in the fender. Then he paid for the gas, told me that he would "never buy gas here again" (big loss) and drove away. What a retard.

A Hood Flies Open

A guy in a brand new SUV pulls in. He is brimming with pride, turns out he had just driven it off the lot. He tells me to fill it with premium and check the oil (just in case they forgot to put it in, he said). So I fill it up and check the oil, which is fine, of course. The guy pays and drives away.

About half an hour later the same SUV pulls in. The hood on it had been mashed into a ball and it was tied down with some rope. Turns out he was crossing The Causeway when the hood flew up and crushed itself against the cab.

We told him to take it back to the dealer.

More to come...

She was fond of a saying her father once used on her as a teenager: "Only two types of people are out after midnight; cops and hookers. So until you have a badge, your ass will be in this house by 11:59." It was currently 12:17, but she needed cigarettes and the corner gas station was a block away.

The station was deserted as usual, with one catatonic clerk gawping at a display of energy drinks kept behind a locked plastic case on the counter. He looked up at her only after she cleared her throat.

"Pack of Du Maurier Kings, please."

The clerk went about the task of tracking down the cigarettes, which were incidentally right in front of his face, when the bell indicating the door was open dinged. She felt a presence behind her.

"Well hey there," a male voice husked, accompanied by a whiff of bourbon-scented breath. "What brings a lady like yourself out at this hour?"

"Just buying cigarettes," she answered tersely, refusing to make eye contact.

"Well pretty ladies don't usually get out this time of night by themselves. Where's your husband?"

At this she turned to look at him. He looked the part of his voice; rough and dirty and most definitely in no shape to be walking the streets this late himself. She then looked down at her own clothing; stained sweatpants and her baggy faded Roughriders t-shirt. She should have known she'd be hit on this evening. She smirked mischievously to herself.

"Buried in my backyard."

The man seemed unperturbed at this obvious bit of sarcasm. "Oh, no shit? Well how about a boyfriend then?"

"He's buried next to my husband."

"Huh." He was wobbly on his feet. "So you got no one then? Why's that?"

She looked him square in his red eyes.

"Because I'm tired of fucking digging." She paid for her cigarettes and shouldered past him on her way out the door.

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