I looked into the mirror and sighed at what stared back. I was 120 pounds at six feet tall. My thick dark hair was wild and bushy - I had decided to let it grow out and it responded by becoming sentient. I was pale and my almost-black eyes were sunken and bloodshot. A steady diet of soda, cigarettes, pot and insomnia had taken its toll.

It was a common sight. Once I had grown bored of tormenting my teachers in high school, I decided to do them a favor and obtain a GED. Not everyone was as happy about my decision as, say, Ms. Gillis or Mr. Perich. My father, for all intents and purposes, disowned me. Aunts and Uncles were less drastic but still made their disappointment clear. My grandfather, a retired army captain, suggested I join the service. My stepfather, on the other hand, was elated. Finally, he had incontrovertible proof that I was the most horrific thing to taint the planet since Adolf Hitler - a fact he took immense pleasure in reminding me of at every possible opportunity.

Without job or car, my only recourse was to lock myself in my room and study the fine art of computer programming. I would stay up three days at a time with nothing but a case of Coke, a carton of Marlboro Lights and a bag of potent skunk weed, writing computer software until finally passing out on the cold, hard wood floor. Unfortunately, there was no fooling Shafto, as I affectionately called my stepfather. Using fancy words like "programming" didn't change the fact that all I was doing was playing with that damned computer and until I got a job, I wasn't a "Man." Eventually, I managed to secure a car - it had been my late great-grandfather's - and had a couple of jobs, neither of which lasted more than a few months before I was fired. The harassment at home would resume as soon as Shafto figured out I was no longer working. It had been almost a year since my last job and the torment was endless.

I rubbed my eyes and sat down in the living room taking a moment to enjoy the late afternoon peace in the house. Shafto was at work and my mom asleep after her graveyard shift. The old house, built by the bare hands of my own great-grandfather, had a chill to it in the cold of winter. I finished a Marlboro Light and pet my mom's Siamese cat before heading over to Travis' to get some pot. I was going to need it to take the edge off for the job interview I had the next day.

Travis had been my friend since the fifth grade. He had Tourette's Syndrome, before anyone knew what Tourette's Syndrome was. He was constantly getting sent to the principal's office for "being disruptive." Once, a teacher even mistakenly thought he was masturbating in class. While I was at a twelfth grade reading level, Travis was suffering at the hands of our fifth grade teacher, Ms. Sleeth, who humiliated him by making him try to recite the alphabet in front of everybody. He broke down crying when he couldn't do it, much to her satisfaction.

Travis' dad, Bunt, had come to live in Missouri when he was busted selling pot to some neighborhood kids in Montana. It seemed he hadn't learned his lesson. Not only was he selling pot to the neighborhood kids again, in the summer he was growing the shit in the small tomato garden he had in the back yard. It didn't seem to bother him that he lived next door to a county cop and it certainly didn't bother my cousin and I to go to Travis' every Sunday morning and get high with his dad while watching "Kung Fu Theater." Bunt always seemed to have the best weed and that's precisely what I needed.

Though he rarely smoked pot himself, Travis joined Bunt and me on the living room floor as we passed a joint back and forth. Bunt hadn't bothered to wear any pants or underwear - only a t-shirt. It wasn't as shocking as the first time I'd seen it.

"So how's your step dad?" Bunt egged me.

"Fuckin' redneck. He flung my door open last night when he got home to say 'hi' and remind me that I'm the most worthless human being he's ever seen."

"Schhhhhaaaaaaaa," Travis twitched, "asshole."

"What a guy!" Bunt added, laughing and coughing, "and what did you tell him then?"

"Just agreed with him," I inhaled deeply from the joint and passed it back to Bunt. "I've got better things to do than sit there and argue with that fuckstain all night."

Travis' mom walked past, on her way to the kitchen, "Hi there, kiddo."

"Hey Dee."

"Travis says you might be gettin' another job..."

This was a touchy subject with Dee. She was a waitress at the Hilton and had gotten me my first job there. I was fired after three months when the manager caught me with a waitress in her car while I was supposed to be working.

"Yeah. We'll see."

"Melanee says hello, by the way."

I reddened, "Oh... that's cool."

I guess Dee couldn't be blamed for getting her jabs in. Melanee was a coke fiend and was a bit overt with her affections. Dee had had to field questions from regular patrons of the restaurant about my relationship with Melanee. How they decided it was any of their business was beyond my comprehension. Still, I wished that Dee could see things from my perspective: In my 16-year-old, hormone-addled mind, there was simply no way a mortal man could possibly have resisted Melanee's 20-year-old charms. And probably not even a mortal woman, for that matter. In any event, it had been two years ago. I wished that she would just let me forget about it.

As I took the joint back from Bunt, he wiped his scrotum with his hand and then waved his fingers under his nose, savoring the scent. I couldn't put the joint to my mouth after seeing that and I plopped it in the ashtray between us. "I think I've had enough of that stuff. I'm gonna head home and get some sleep," I lied.

"That's cool man!" Bunt smiled brightly, completely unaware of doing something that would scar me for life.

"Thanks for the bag man."

"No problem, man!" he assured me.

"I'll pay you in a couple of days."

"Oh, I know you will, man! St-a-a-a-a-y cool, man!" Bunt waved his hand from side to side, as though he were polishing a window. I suspected Bunt was afflicted with Tourette's Syndrome as well, but had learned how to disguise it in his 64 years.

Travis cocked his head to the side and spit at the air, "Hey, good luck with the job, man!"

"Thanks, Travis. Later."

"Later, man! Ttttt-ttt-ttt!"

As I drove home in the darkness, I thought about my botched three-month stint at the Hilton. I reminisced about my only other job - a couple of months at the airport gift shop. There, I had been fired when a secret shopper caught me giving away merchandise to friends and taking a pack of cigarettes - something I had considered to be a company-subsidized health benefit. Now, a gas station? Things were certainly bleak.

I steered the car with my leg while I packed a bowl and lit up. I inhaled the smoke deeply and forcefully, determined to snuff out my awareness.

"�

I stood in the gravel parking lot of the Phillips 66 and took a deep breath. I was weak and numb from exhaustion and lack of nutrition. I hadn't been able to sleep again - putting me at 48 hours with no sleep. I was probably somewhat overdressed and I hated wearing dress clothes; but I decided I should probably actually try to get the job. I was uncomfortably warm and itchy, even as deep into the winter as it was. I wasn't so bothered by it, though. I doubted the interview would last that long and then I could finally go home and sleep.

There were two vehicles parked side-by-side in the gravel lot - a beat up old blue and white pickup and a decayed green Charger. Behind those were two cars which seemed to have been parked somewhat more haphazardly - a '59 Fairlane that had been restored and painted a glossy blue and a large new black pickup with over sized wheels and "KC" lights on the roof and bumper. I assessed the scene and concluded I was dealing with two losers, probably a twenty-something who might be cool and some stupid hick kid with parents who had too much money.

I was a bit nervous as I walked past the Charger and then the blue and white pickup, then the ice machine and then through the heavy glass door and into the office. At least it was warm inside.

I was immediately assaulted by the scent of car grease and gasoline and the annoying blather of an AM talk radio show. There was a conversation going in the room as I opened the door, but as soon as I entered, it grew silent and everyone stared at me. To the right, sitting on the floor against the wall was a large metal safe that opened from the top. To the left was a desk in front of long wooden shelves filled with various automotive fluids. In front of me, there was an ancient cigarette machine and a newer Coke machine. Four people were hanging around the office. I quickly identified the two losers and the stupid hick kid, but the twenty-something who might be cool was actually a long-haired teenager. I was completely unimpressed.

"Hey, I'm Darren," I said with a half-smile.

The long-haired teenager was the first to reply, "Hey dude, I'm Josh."

Stoner.

The stupid hick kid adjusted the wad of tobacco he was gnawing on, causing his bottom lip to protrude, "Howdy, I'm Rick."

Great, a redneck. He probably shoots stoners.

The older man sitting at the desk stood up and held out his hand, "I'm Ted."

"Nice to meet you," I lied, as I shook his fat paw.

Ted was sitting at the desk with his day shift sidekick at his side like a faithful dog. Ted was in his late thirties or early forties, short, round and balding. He had thin black hair that he greased over his bald spot, a distracting mole sprouting from his nose, and a thin black mustache that seemed to collect moisture from his nostrils. With the green coveralls, he reminded me of some sort of warped Mario Brothers character.

"This is Daryl, my future son-in-law," Ted beamed proudly.

I immediately thought of "Daryl and his other brother Daryl" from the Newhart Show.

"I'm still tryin' to get him to stop walkin' around shittin' his pants."

I couldn't decide which mental image was worse - Daryl and Daryl walking around shitting his pants or Ted engaged in some activity that would stop such a thing from happening.

"Your shift is from three to nine. Can you start today? That would sure help."

I wanted to collapse. "Well, I've been up all night... "

Ted sat at the desk staring at me blankly.

"Yeah, I guess I can."

"That's great!" Ted grunted at Daryl and Daryl who, out of some Pavlovian response, began counting his money. Ted grabbed a large clipboard of long orange sheets decorated with hand-drawn lines and indecipherable scribbling. He motioned for me to follow him.

Ted went to each of the four pumps, reading the sales numbers from both sides while explaining the complexities of gas pumping, "Always do the windshields. Sometimes we'll have to check the oil or tires. If anyone gives you any shit, just tell 'em to get lost. You can smoke inside, but not out here. I don't care what you do on your own time, but I don't want no drugs here."

I absently nodded in acknowledgment, not really paying attention to a word he was saying. I was more interested in the cute girl grappling with her windshield at the Amoco next door. This job could have benefits, I realized.

"So how come I ain't seen you at the VoTech?" Ted asked, as he walked back toward the office.

"Oh, yeah, I dropped out. The instructor wasn't even qualified to be my student."

Ted eyed me suspiciously, "What class were ya takin'?"

"Programming."

"Oh, you smart, huh?"

"I guess that depends on how stupid you are," I thought. This guy reminded me of that dumbass hick, Shafto. My senses kicked in and immediately translated my sarcasm into a phrase easily digestible by someone with Ted's obviously limited cognitive abilities "Not really."

Ted grunted. I got the sneaking suspicion he wouldn't want me as a son-in-law.

"How long you known Travis?"

"Oh, since the fifth grade."

"He's a character ain't he?"

"Yeah. He's cool."

We made it back inside the office where Daryl and Daryl had finished counting his money. He threw the wad of bills on the desk next to a mound of coins and recited the total to Ted who quickly scribbled it into a random blank spot on his orange sheet. Daryl and Daryl left without saying another word.

"See ya tomorrow," Ted called after him.

I heard an indecipherable intonation from Daryl and Daryl's general direction as the glass door swung closed behind him.

Ted counted his money and laid it on the desk and then began slowly punching numbers into a grease-covered adding machine, "We'll just let Rick and Josh handle the money tonight, 'til you get comfortable with everything."

"OK."

The room fell silent except for the sound of Ted pecking out numbers on the adding machine and the annoying blather on the radio. Josh and Rick collected the two piles of money on the desk and we officially began the shift - each taking turns getting cars.

After my third car, Ted finally finished with the books and collected his things, "See y'all tomorrow."

"Later," I replied. Josh and Rick remained silent.

As soon as the door closed, Josh tuned the radio to KY-102 - "Kansas City's Rock Station" - and Rick took Ted's seat at the desk.

"So, you go to the Vo-Tech?" Rick twanged, accompanied by Boston's "More than a Feeling."

"No, I dropped out."

"Did you know Ted there?"

"Nope."

Rick looked at me distrustingly, "I thought you were in the same class with him... so why did he hire you?"

"No. My friend is in Ted's class. He referred me."

Rick and Josh glanced at each other suspiciously. The tension was thick in the room. I needed to get that damn hick out of there so I could broach the drug subject with Josh and I was happy to see a car pull in, knowing it was Rick's customer. Instead, Josh got up to take care of the young kid idling at the near island. I watched closely while he walked up to the window, not as interested in the activities outside as wanting to ignore the awkwardness in the room. The kid didn't buy any gas, but gave Josh some money. I knew a drug deal when I saw one.

Eventually, Josh returned and only a few moments later another car pulled in. This time Rick hopped up to get it. I quickly took out my hard pack of Marlboro Lights and fished out the joint I had hidden in it, "I don't suppose there's any way we can smoke this here."

Josh's eyes widened in astonishment, "Dude, you get high?"

"Usually."

"Shit! We thought you were Ted's narc. You're not friends with Ted?"

"Dude, I never met that guy before in my life."

Josh pointed, somewhat dazedly, to a wooden door behind him. The door had a black sign on it with "KEEP OUT!" in red letters, "We can smoke it back there."

"Is Rick cool?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, he smokes."

We went to the back room and lit up the joint. We passed it back and forth a couple of times before Rick came back inside.

"Dude, he gets high!" Josh said, excitedly.

Rick looked at me incredulously, "I thought you were friends with Ted..."

All I could do was to shake my head at the awesome stupidity.

After a few more hits off the joint, with Rick joining us, Josh pulled out a cellophane bag. At first, I thought it was pot but quickly realized it was LSD. It looked like twenty or so of the small perforated squares remained on the sheet, each one stamped with a gold star.

Josh held the bag up, "You wanna do some acid?"

"Fuck! You do that here?" I laughed.

"Sure, dude."

I was tempted, "Well, I should probably be careful my first night and all. I don't want to freak out and start giving money away or some shit."

Josh giggled in a way that only an acid head could, "That's cool dude. Here, take a couple for later." Josh tore off three of the squares and handed them to me, then tore off two more and shoved them under his tongue. Now I was convinced - this job definitely had benefits.

The tension in the room had completely evaporated and it had almost become like a party. As time wore on, more and more customers came in. Eventually, they were lined up to the street and we had to stay outside constantly. The night air was bitterly cold. Fortunately, I had discovered a large Phillips 66 coat in the back room. I grew more and more comfortable with the duties of the position. In thirty minutes, I had handled enough customers that I had created my own wad; it was too much of a nuisance having to go to Rick and Josh to get change. Just three short hours after first walking into the office, I felt completely at home. In a moment of carefree euphoria, I stuffed the three squares of blotter under my tongue.

My timing couldn't have been more perfect. By the time the rush had died down, the acid was starting to hit me. Several of Josh's friends stopped in and hung out and tripped with us. We all laughed at nothing and talked about things that didn't make any sense beyond the boundaries of the small universe that existed only within that room - a bubble of an insane asylum in the middle of suburbia.

At 8:30, Josh declared that we'd all had enough and moved the hands of the clock thirty minutes ahead. We brought in the squeegee buckets, air hose and trash cans, locked the pumps and turned off all the canopy and pump lights from the two fuse boxes in the back room. Josh flipped the "Closed" sign and locked the door. We hung out in the office for an hour or so, laughing at the confused customers pulling in wondering if we were still open. Some would wait several minutes, staring intently at the door. Sometimes Josh waved at them, laughing hysterically.

After Josh's friends trickled away one-by-one and Rick left, we decided to go for a drive. For some reason I can't even imagine now, we ended up at a grocery store. At the time, it was the only 24-hour store in the area, so there was a constant stream of people coming and going. We walked through the first set of doors and immediately noticed a broken gumball machine. Without the slightest hesitation and without saying a word to each other, we knelt down in front of it and shoveled the large gumballs into our pockets. I was still wearing the Phillip's 66 coat, which had huge pockets. Store patrons walked by staring at us with a mixture of confusion and fear. We laughed maniacally until we emptied the machine and left without anyone disturbing us.

I finally made it home at around 4:30 that morning. I went to my room and fell onto the bed, sending gumballs spilling out into various hiding places all over the room. I would still be finding them a year later. I smiled blissfully into my pillow with the realization that I had stumbled upon the perfect job.

Posted by DevilMonkey at 7:37 PM

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