Pump Fiction: Summer as a Gas Station Attendant

By John McWilliams | Wednesday, September 30, 1998

When I first got to Atlanta this spring, I had no money. I had landed an excellent internship with a local radio company, but since the internship was an unpaid one — I was still broke. Having no money in my bank account began to bother me and I spent three days obsessively daydreaming about money. There was only one solution to be found: I worked the graveyard shift at a gas station.

Besides working a combined 18 hours a day, I was in a neighborhood filled with harlots, druggies, and fugitives. I spent all of my shifts in a bulletproof glass cubicle, operating the cash register. The graveyard shift at a gas station proved to be one of the most powerful and humorous experiences in my life. Apparently earning $5.50 an hour has some benefits.

One thing I will remember for the rest of my life was the murder of a prostitute in a motel adjacent to the gas station. The prostitute was stabbed 22 times and left for dead in one of the rooms. Information about the murder spread quickly in the neighborhood, and I was petrified.

Two days later I saw a ragged man standing next to the gas station's entrance and talking to one of my co-workers. The stranger seemed friendly, so I greeted him.

For the next two weeks the stranger would sit next to the station's car wash for hours and talk to everyone who passed by. It didn't bother me until I had a short conversation with him one day when I arrived to begin work.

'Hi,' I said.

'Hey John, how are you doing?' the stranger said.

'Fine.'

'Hey, I heard you work at a radio station. How is that?'

'It's good.'

'Okay, okay, okay. That's good. That's good. I also heard that you don't live too far from this area.'

'How do you know so much about me?'

'Oh, I talk to your co-workers.'

I looked at him strangely, said nothing, and entered the store. Two days later I found out from my boss that this guy had been apprehended for the murder of the prostitute. For some reason, I didn't feel good working that night.

The gas station suddenly began to attract death. While I was there, two people were hit by cars right in front of the gas station. Unfortunately I witnessed one of the two accidents while inside my bulletproof cubicle. A man was jogging nonchalantly across the street when a speeding car slammed into him.

My right hand was over my mouth, and my eyes never blinked. I was totally stunned. Nothing in my life had prepared me for that moment. Someone came in the store and yelled at me to call 911. I did. The victim died on the scene, and the driver was taken into custody.

Another night a young lady came in the store and bought some beer. Thinking that she was too young to purchase beer, I asked for her identification. She went into her pocketbook and gave me her driver's licence.

'Ma'am, this can't be your identification. It has a picture of a man on it,' I said.

'I know,' she said in a deep, playful voice.

I was talking to my first transsexual.

'Oh my god, you're a man, aren't you?,' I said, shocked.

'Yes, I'm a man, but I'm happy as a woman. Can you tell me the price of the beer?,' she said with a smirk on her face.

She was old enough to purchase beer, so I returned her license to her. She purchased the beer and left the store. It was five minutes before I could stop laughing.

One Friday night, one of my co-workers decided to help me during my shift. While he operated the cash register, I cleaned the display shelves and the coffee machine. This was the first time I stayed outside the bulletproof glass for an extended period of time. A streetwalker, who was a regular customer, entered the store. I knew her name, but for the sake of her privacy I'll call her 'Candy.'

'Hey Candy, how are you doing today?,' I said.

'It's a beautiful day today,' Candy said with tears in her eyes.

'Huh?'

'For the first time in my life I felt free. I went downtown to a restaurant, and this restaurant had the best cheesesteak sandwich in town.'

'Well, that's good. That's really good.'

That was when things got interesting.

'John, you are a beautiful man. I come to this store almost everyday to talk to you. I can always look in your beautiful eyes and see a sincere and nice man,'
Candy said.

I said nothing. Candy began to roll up the sleeves on her blouse, revealing several bruises and cuts on her arms.

'All men abuse me, use me for sex, and beat me. That's why I like coming here. You're the only man who treats me with respect and dignity, John,' Candy continued. Tears began to roll down her face.

At this moment, my co-worker was laughing behind the bulletproof glass.

'That's why I felt free today. I went downtown by myself and purchased food for myself. I had the best cheesesteak sandwich in my life, and I didn't need a man to buy it for me,' Candy said.

I said nothing. Candy asked me to join her for a cheesesteak sandwich downtown. I declined, but I offered to listen to her problems whenever she wanted. Candy left the store, and that was the last time I ever saw her.

Working at the gas station was a life-changing experience. The bullet-proof glass which protected and confined me was my window to a world that I had never cared to see before. Down-on-their-luck guys were murderers, women were men, and prostitutes seemed pure. I saw both death and the rejuvenation of lives.

I thought living in Atlanta for the summer would teach me about the radio business, and it did, but it was my time behind the glass which taught me about the lives of others. When it was time to leave in August I came to this realization and it scared me. Now, sitting safely in Hanover, I'm still scared.

Pump Fiction: Summer as a Gas Station Attendant

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