Night Shift at the Gas and Go

Casey always thought of a gas station as the great equalizer. Not everyone could afford the same clothes, or eat in the same restaurants, or live in the same neighborhoods. But everyone needed gas.

And cigarettes. Everyone also needed cigarettes.

The 24-Hour Gas and Go where she worked, situated right off of a relatively remote exit on one of the busiest interstates east of the Mississippi, served this diverse slice of humanity. The vintage jaguar whose driver had to pull up to both sides of the car to fill its twin gas tanks fueld right next to the Toyota Corolla held together solely by need. Maybe the cars were even manufactured during the same year, but the only other thing they had in common was they both ran on gasoline.

Casey enjoyed this variation in clientele. It was her favorite thing about an otherwise dull and sometimes borderline dangerous job. That, and she loved the relative quiet of the night shift.

Occasionally she’d encounter a tweaker or an attempted robbery, but she was on good terms with the cops (they always got free drinks when they stopped in to use the restroom) and the emergency button under the counter gave her a sense of security. She was prepared for those situations. She knew what to expect and how to respond.

She wasn’t prepared for a charming con man, though.

His car was solidly average, if a bit small for the tall drink of water who walked through the glass doors of the convenience store. Twenty years after she was done with this job she’d still smell the tang of gasoline and expect a rush of warm air when she heard the jangling of a bell against glass. Pavlov was right.

“I need to pay cash on pump four,” he said.

“Sure thing,” she replied with a smile. That had probably been her biggest mistake. He put two twenty-dollar bills on the counter. She swiped them up and as she counted out his change, he threw two fifty-dollar bills in the same spot.

“Actually, I need some change for a poker game tonight. Can I get some tens?”

Casey put the fifties on the counter, and the rest was a blur. He threw more money on the counter, changed his mind, decided he needed singles and fives instead of tens, then asked for another fifty’s worth, and in the end walked out with his original hundred dollars, plus $150 out of her cash register.

Her mind spun and her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized what had happened. As he walked away, a righteous anger boiled up in her. No, she wasn’t going to let this bullshit happen without giving him a piece of her mind. She ran around the counter and out the door, the bell clanging noisily in protest.

“Hey, ASSHOLE. Get back here!” He ignored her, pulling open the door to his nondescript sedan. An elderly man filling up at another pump looked at her, startled, and slipped quietly into his own car.

“Dude, you may think you’re ripping off a big oil company, but that mistake in my drawer is going to come out of MY salary! Get back here!” Casey was just venting now. She was not deluded enough to think her words were actually going to accomplish anything, but she needed to shout them anyway.

But unexpectedly, he stopped. He turned around. And he sighed.

Casey assessed him in a split second. He didn’t look like he had a weapon. He didn’t seem angry. He just looked tired. She seized her one chance.

“If you take that money, we have your license plate on camera.”

He started walking toward her, and Casey retreated inside the building to the safety of her counter and her security button. The stranger resumed his spot across the counter from her. “My mistake,” he said, throwing $150 on the counter in front of her.

Casey grabbed the cash, keyed in her employee code, and dropped the bills in the drawer quickly before slamming it shut. “Are you, like, a magician or something?”

“Something like that.”

“I won’t file a report if you show me how you did that.” Why did she want to know?

“A good magician never reveals his secrets,” he said, and she could tell it was a line he’d said many times before. “But you know what? You’d probably benefit from seeing how this is done. So it doesn’t happen to you again.” He smiled and she did not return the look.

“Well isn’t that kind of you?” Her sarcasm was another line of defense.

“Maybe that was my plan all along.” Then he winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head.

He crossed his arms. “The key is distraction. You smiled at me, so I knew you were paying attention to something other than just the money.” Casey blushed, but it was true. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t smile at anyone, but just know that someone else might take advantage of that.” With the smile he flashed her then, he probably could have walked out with the whole cash register, but she did her best to look unaffected.

“Got it. Don’t get distracted.”

“Rule number two: don’t trust anyone who asks you for change.”

“I get asked for change about twice a night and this has never happened to me before.”

“Fair point. But this is how it starts. So if you are making change, keep your guard up.”

“Noted.”

“Rule number three: If he changes his mind, slam your drawer shut. Just close it. Because once you start changing denominations, you’re cooked.”

“Shut the drawer. Got it. Any other tips?”

“That’s it.”

“Thank you,” she said, which felt ludicrous, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to say “now get the hell out of here.”

He stared at her for a few seconds as if considering what to say next. “Thank you,” he replied. Then he backed his way through the glass doors and walked to his car. He didn’t look like he was in a hurry, but within the space of a minute his tail lights were fading in the distance.

Now whenever she heard that clang of bell against glass, she’d be reminded of this.