The Evil Wench at the C-Store

Look out...I'm getting up on the soapbox, and I'm steaming....

Today, I went into a C-store to get my favorite nectar of the gods, Diet Mountain Dew. All the bottles in the cold case had spatters of something sticky and brown on them. I'm assuming it was probably exploded Pepsi or a similar substance. If not, I really, really don't want to know.

I pulled one and took it to the register. While the gum smacking under-dressed gutter socialite behind the counter was ringing up my drink, I asked her if she perhaps had a wet wipe or a damp paper towel I could use to clean the bottle. She waved her hand in a vague fashion toward their deli, said something largely unintelligible around the wad of gum, and then TURNED HER BACK ON ME.

She didn't turn to answer a question or get something for another customer. She just turned around and rested her vast backside against the very counter upon which my purchase was sitting. I felt my blood pressure soaring. She hadn't helped me get something to clean up THEIR mess, she hadn't even offered to put the things I'd picked up in a bag, and she turned her back to me in dismissal while I was still trying to understand what the heck she was trying to say. People have died for less than that.

If you hate your job that much, go to the house. Please. Your life may be a living nightmare, but that's no reason to take it out on every innocent bystander. Truly, I understand that working at a gas station on a Saturday afternoon probably doesn't rank up there as one of the top ten jobs, but if it's paying your car note and your light bill, don't give me crap when all I am trying to do is buy a soda.

I was very proud of myself. I did not reach across the counter and slap her silly. I thought about it. It was fairly satisfying just thinking about it, in fact. Instead, I found a napkin, got the bottle clean, and left. I managed not to let her rudeness force me into rudeness of my own, so maybe I won a small battle with myself if nothing else.