Week 3 - Introducing a character

Only three more hours left on her shift. For the remainder of the week, she is working the late shifts. She doesn’t mind that at all. On those shifts the door is locked, and the people have to pay for the window. There is no chance that she will be robbed. Also, with the thick glass, and the turnstile that they put their money or credit card in, there is very limited opportunities for conversation. Megan can’t stand hearing the same fucking lines over and over. The old guys, or the young ones filled with machismo and fake bravado, using the same cheesy lines to hit on her.

Today is slow. The bigger name gas stations have lowered their price to match Admirals. That is the only reason people come to this dump. The gas is usually cheaper. Inside the small cramped establishment, there is a cooler with a few Coke and Pepsi products, water, and a few flavors of Gatorade. Beef Jerky hangs next to the sparse candy rack. The cigarette shelves are packed. The other shelves have chew, and bags of tobacco. Besides that, all that remains is a shelf with motor oil, and the newspaper rack. The station sits on the corner of two busy streets. There is usually an accident once a month from people trying to pull in or out of this station. Most busy days there are a few near misses as cars jockey for pump positions. The pavement is cracked. Megan sometimes wonders how much of the spilt gas and leaking oil seeps in to the ground beneath the pavement cracks. She has spent most of the day just staring out at the traffic, or at her nails. Her fingernails are painted black today, though her left index finger has part chipped off. She wishes she brought the nail polish with her.

Megan has already looked in her little black bag. It doesn’t hold much, but she loves the bag. It has little skulls all over it. Her purse is crammed with ATM receipts, some lip balm, a few wadded dollar bills, a half pack of Newports and her keys. She doesn’t like to bring too much stuff with her at work, because you never know when you will get held up.

The job is overall not too bad though. It is easy, and she doesn’t mind not doing anything. There aren’t too many jobs out there for someone with just a high school diploma. This one lets her easily pay her portion of the rent. They let her dress however she wants to, as long as her clothes are not ripped. She had a pair of jeans she bought with rips in them, but was informed she could never wear them again. Her boss doesn’t understand her fashion. It is ok though. She can still wear her concert t-shirts. Today Megan is wearing one of her favorites – See You Next Tuesday. She is not too much of a fan of the band – her old boyfriend was. He used to love the song 8 Dead, 9 If You Count The Fetus. All of the songs sounded the same to her…just a bunch of high pitch screaming. Still, the shirt is pretty fucking cool. It is black, but the graphics have so much color, including pink, that she can match it with any color nail polish and eye shadow. The only bad part is they make her wear the blue Admiral vest over the shirt. Most of the day she doesn’t have it on. She can see when a boss pulls up, and always has time to pull it on before they notice.

The radio is playing Z93. Nickelback is playing again. They play the same shitty songs over and over. One day she will bring in an MP3 player, so she can listen to some good music. Since nothing is good on the radio, it is time for another smoke break.
Megan grabs a cigarette, bums a disposable BIC from the bowl on the counter, and steps outside. Just as she lights up, a Chevy Cobalt with the bass on high pulls up to the pump. She takes one more quick drag and tosses the cigarette to the ground. She grinds it with her black and pink Vans and steps back inside.

She looks at herself in the security mirror as she waits for the young guy to finish filling the tank. The red streaks in her hair are starting to fade a bit. She cheapened out and used the temporary dye the last time. Next time, I will go blue. Megan always thinks about going blue, but ends up sticking with red. She knows her boss won’t bitch with her hair having long strands of red in it. For some reason that seems to be more acceptable to old people than blue. Why push her luck? The guy finishes filling up and heads her way to pay. She notices his American Eagle shirt (and probably the same with his shorts) and backwards cap. She hopes this loser won’t hit on her. He is probably too preppy to care, but she can tell he has the cockiness. Oh well….another day in paradise….