First day of my new life. It's too bad though. I mean, I certainly have another job in the works, had one for a month and a half or so, but I didn't want it to end like this. Every since my boss found out about my job offer from one of her biggest clients (because I am awesome), she got really butt hurt and I could tell that I was walking on thin ice. I was over that shit anyway, but like I said before, I didn't want it to end like that. I had planned on giving her at least two weeks notice, if not more. I am loyal, so I wanted to give her as much time as possible. Well, flooding the shop was that kicker, the tipping point. Say goodbye.
Fuck her. On to the next segment of Friday, pt. IV.
My first stop in Rainier is always the Chevron. The Chevron is one of two gas stations, the other being a Shell just around the bend on the "West side of town". They are both owned by the same person. Chevron is the hub of all activity in Rainier, all the residents stopping at this pump station for their corn dogs, pizza pockets, chew, cigarettes, energy drinks, candy, beer and of course, gas. A friend of mine tried to shoot this other kid we knew in the face in the parking lot. The gun misfired and he walked away. Later on that night the kid that was going to get shot was on the news talking about how much of a punk the shooter was. They are both small time drug dealers that are yearning for that life of thuggery and danger. The cops eventually just watched the security cameras to find out the exact identification of the shooter and he was caught and sent to jail for a few months. But that tells you something about this Chevron. The hub of Rainier.
I walk into the "Quick Stop" and grab a six pack of Pabst tallboys and a pack of Camel Filter 99s, the usual. Every other year you might see a new face working here, but for the most part, I am 26 and the same few people have been working here since I was in middle school. The larger woman at the counter is sweet. She always recognizes me (slightly) whenever I come in, which I like since I only come in maybe once a year. The small girl at the counter is a girlfriend of a past friend of mine, another small time drug dealer, but unlike some of the others living in Rainier that yearn, this kid already had, so he is taking it easy for a reason. Hailing from Long Beach, California, his mom is a raging alcoholic and his brother was a junkie (though he has cleaned himself up and is doing very well for himself). I'm not sure what brought them to Rainier. I could probably take a guess though. The plump gentleman with the graying mustache at the pumps, he has probably been working here the longest. But he also has a dark history, mostly rumors, but who really knows. Obviously no one is going to go up and ask about it. A sore subject maybe? As long as he doesn't diddle little kids anymore.
I put the pack of smokes in my pocket and wrap my arms around the brown bag containing my tallboys. I push through the double doors and notice a group of kids chilling out on the curb to my left. I look over and get several sets of eyes staring me down. I snicker and turn to my right. I remember always giving the stink eye to people we didn't know back in the day. But nowadays I remember to roll my sleeves up to show my full-sleeve tattoo work, because kids here in Rainier are scared of foreign and not too many of them have any ink quiet yet. Once they see the sleeve, the 36 hours of work right in front of their fucking faces, they look down at their soda pop and wrap their lips around the straw, acting as if they were just stretching their eyeballs.
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