Inconvenience Store

Sunnie Stephens

“Is they-uh any way I could... possibly... ya know... borrow a gallon or two of gas from ya guys?”

 I stared blankly at this man, trying to understand what exactly he was asking of me. First, I realize I have never seen him come through here before. He must be a traveler, visiting from out of state and just passing through. He stood there patiently, dark filth smeared all over his arms and face, black grime packed underneath every fingernail, and hair that could only be associated with someone who had just been electrically shocked, little tufts jutting out of every angle of his head.

 

Outside, the backseat of his Ford Taurus was filled to the roof with clothing and… furniture? This man must’ve had one hell of a day. His clothes matched the rest of him, very worn out and soiled. Although his appearance wasn’t up to par, his face still had a friendly aspect to it, like an old-family friend that hasn’t seen you since you were just a toddler. This gave me a sense of comfort. He didn’t seem creepy and harassing like other ancient men that come by this gas station. One of our regular creeps even had the guts to smack my ass with a plastic bag while my back was turned.

 His question once again rang throughout my head. He needs gas? He isn’t holding out any money for me to take… So he’s gotta be asking for free gas. Never had I expected to be put in a situation in which a beggar will actually come into Ag Valley and ask for gas. How do I even react in a situation like this? He seems to recognize these thoughts that are silently running a thousand miles an hour..

 “I don’t have no money right now. I need to make it a couple mo-ah miles east. I will make up for it tomorr-ah. I can prah-mise ya that.”

 I see one of my co-workers, Kaitlyn, who I can always rant about grouchy customers, standing behind him, cleaning aisles on the other side of the c-store. She seems to have overheard what this man has asked of me. Her heavily freckled face begins to scrunch up, lips bunched out of her face and eyes squinting, making a sour face about the situation. This is the gesture she normally gives me when shit hits the fan. What should I do? Cindy, my supervisor, would kill me if she sees a couple of dollars missing from the register. Hell, she flips when 50 cents comes up missing. She seems to be one of those types that have to have everything done in their specific way, but only with small things, such as the register or the food we serve. From that look on Kaitlyn’s face, I know she wants to have nothing to do with this man and his requests, not that she would offer to help anyway.

 

I wrack my brain on what I could do to help this man. I can’t let him to drive away with unpaid gas. No one else in line is offering to cover the five dollars he needs to pay for the gas. If I tell him that I can’t help him, he will hang around the store for the rest of the day, continuing to guilt trip me until I close the c-store and head home for the night. If I lend him money, how do I know that he will pay me back. I have never met, much less actually seen, this man before; based off his appearance, I wouldn’t doubt he is living out of his little junked Ford. He did mention he would pay us back by tomorrow, though. Paying for his gas seems to be the only logical solution, but the only thing I could base my decision off of was his word. My hands drift to my back pocket, and a realization hits me. I didn’t bring my wallet to work today; I don’t have any money on me. “Well, shit.”

I begin looking around the register for alternate ways to cover the cost of a gallon of gas. Our styrofoam cup the employees use for extra change is almost completely empty. Kaitlyn must’ve used it to buy herself a Gatorade. Damn girl. The money is supposed to be used for customer, not the employees.

Then my eyes catch on our employee charges sheet. I could let this man pull money out of my next paycheck in order to pay for the gas he needs. As I walk him through the process of charging my account, I begin to realize that there is no way I am getting this money back. He most likely lives out of his car, he can’t keep a clean appearance, and he may not even have a job. From what I’ve seen, I lose all hope in getting my hard-earned five bucks back.

I reassure myself that I am doing a good thing for this man; I am completing a good deed for the day. After the transaction is finished, he leaves and quickly fills his car. During this situation, tons of customers had lined up after the grungy man, and I am too busy to notice him drive off. Once the line shortens, Kaitlyn walks up to me with the audacity to say, “ I hope you realize you’re never getting that money back.”

As I begin work the next day, I find out that Cindy had noticed that I only pulled five bucks out of my paycheck for some gas. She was making snide remarks to all my coworkers. “God, how stingy can a person be?”

She finally confronted me about it. “So, I just have to ask: why did you only put five dollars in gas? And from your next paycheck as well? That’s a lot of paperwork for such a small amount of money.”

 She was a short, self-conceited fireball who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Her sporadic curly hair provided a perfect example of her unorganized personality. She looked at me with a snide smile plastered across her face. When I told her the reasoning behind the five dollars, I physically saw the pert melt off her face. “I can’t believe I have someone that generous working for my company.” This comment helped fuel my beliefs that I did something good for someone. I didn’t expect him to pay me back, based on the circumstances, and I didn’t necessarily feel the need for him to pay me back anymore.

The day passed on slowly, as any work day does. No one mentioned a man coming in, and leaving money behind. Slowly my thoughts drifted towards my coworkers. They were the type of people that would steal the money that was left for someone else. I mean, the man never even asked for my name; anyone could’ve said the money was for themselves. Knowing Kaitlyn, she would take that five to spend on whatever the hell she pleases, even though she was there for the whole event. She’s the type that would do anything for her own benefit, but rat out anyone else for doing the same thing.

About a week had passed before anyone brought up the situation again. I walked into Ag Valley, and before I could even clock in, my eyes drifted towards a sticky note with something else attached to it. “Oh great,” I thought, “Someone left a huge order to make before the kitchen closes.”  I continued to clock in and prep the kitchen before even looking at what was written. Once I felt prepared to start my shift, I took a closer look at the sticky note and noticed a five dollar bill was attached to it.

The words on it filled my heart with the same warmth as watching someone with stage fright finally show off their skills: “Sunnie - a guy left this for you, said he owed you for gas :)”