The power of the corn dog

2:45 a.m.: A dark orange short bus rolls into the parking lot and seven drunk people pour out. All but one head to the bathrooms.

The one, a good-looking fella in his mid-20s, comes up to the counter and asks for a can of Copenhagen.

"$3.63? That's a small price to pay for lip cancer," he says and laughs.

He then tells me he blames his father for his tobacco habit.

"Grew up on the farm. Dad chewed, and he started giving me snuff when I was 13."

He says he's since quit — at least on weekdays.

"But when I'm out drinking, I just feel like I have to have a chew."

"How much are those flowers?" he asks in the non sequitur I've come to expect from late-night customers.

"I'm not sure," I answer as I head over to the display.

"Think if I gave one to that girl over there she'd grant me sexual favors?" he asks (I apologize for refining the language a bit here).

"I don't know," I say. "It's $2.99 for a single rose. I think you might have better luck with a hot dog."

As the woman approaches, he suddenly stands up straight.

"Hey, Baby, can I buy you a hot dog?"

"Nah," she answers. "But I could really go for a corn dog."

"We don't have any out right now," I say. "But I can pop a couple in the oven. They're on sale, two for $1.50."

"No. We don't have time for that," the woman says.

"It'll only take five minutes," I explain.

"No. We don't have five minutes," she says.

The guy follows the girl out the door, then looks back and shrugs.

"Sorry, Man." I say. "I was pitching for ya."

Avoid the 'roids

"Look at that! And, I'm clean!" the customer boasted as he peeled up his right sleeve to expose a bicep.

"Seventeen and a half inches," he said, flexing to pull his pasty white skin taut over his upper arm. "And I've been off anabolics for two years."

"Let me tell you, if I punched you with this, it would sting."

I backed up a couple of steps.

Then he spent the next three minutes saying how the steroids had caused wild mood swings that probably led to his girlfriend cheating on him. But, now he had left "that bitch."

Seems to me the old comic book ads showed the muscle man getting the girl.

It was just a joke

3:10 a.m. "Are you OK?"

I was in the back room when I heard scuffling, then a series of thuds, coming from the hallway to the bathroom.

I ran out to see two men sprawled on the floor and another trying to lift the others up. Two-liter bottles of pop were strewn about, one with a broken top that was spraying the men with a fine mist .

"Of course, I'm OK," the drunkest of the three sputters as the puddle of Sprite broadens beneath him. "What kind of fuckin' question is that!?"

"It was just a joke, man," the standing man says.

"Don't worry about the pop. I'll take care of that," I say. "Just make sure your friend is OK."

The drunkest goes into the bathroom and the other two grab some drinks and head out to the car."

As I'm mopping up the floor, I can hear a high-pitched wailing from the restroom. I'm just about to call 911, when the drunkest emerges from the bathroom, apparently singing along with the Travis Tritt song on the PA.

He spends the next five minutes trying to put a bratwurst on a bun and cover it with ketchup without losing his balance and hitting the floor a second time.

He finally  pays for his dog and a drink and exits the store, staggering into the parking lot with a dark circle of what I hope was Sprite on the seat of his pants.

Later, while policing the parking lot, I discover the brat and bun. Luckily, pre-ingested.

Now, that's a party!

2:45 a.m.: "Hello, how are you tonight?"

"Terrible. I've been stole from, swore at, spit on, punched and kicked today."

"Sounds like a party!"

"I'm a cabbie!"

Keep smiling

Photo by Peyri Herrera

11:30 p.m.: Visited one of our sister stores to pick up milk and bananas.

The guy behind the counter didn't say hello, didn't smile ... heck, he didn't even speak. He just rang up my stuff and held out his hand.

Didn't he see the training videos?

No matter how dirty, obnoxious, drunk or stupid the customer is, I always smile and say hello.

"Come back and see us again ...

... Dickwad."

Womb bomb

2:30 a.m.: Four VERY drunk women walk in. They wander a bit, then grab drinks and snacks and come to the counter.

The first two pay for their coffees and chips and stagger out the door.

The third can barely stand.

"Egg salad and a cuppa joe," she announces to the entire store as I count out her change.

Then she waits as the last woman makes her purchases.

"I think my vagina's going to explode," the egg salad woman says loudly to the straggler.

To which I reply, "Miss, I think you had better take that outside."

"Brian, Brian, Brian," she says after squinting at my name tag. "Keep it classy, Brian."

With a capital K.

Any color but yellow

Smokers don't like yellow lighters.

When someone buys cigarettes, we're always supposed to ask if they need matches or a lighter. If they want a lighter, we ask what color.

Invariably, the answer is, "Any color but yellow."

I asked some of the store old-timers about the color bias.

"Yellow lighters are bad luck. Everyone knows that."

A bit of Googling reveals that both white and yellow lighters are cursed. Some say Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix both died with white (or yellow) lighters in their pockets. Others say that the vast majority of the people busted on "Cops" have yellow lighters on their person (but no shirt?).

All I know is that Bic sends us a box of lighters with the same number of each color. That might explain the box filled with yellow rejects under the counter.

What are we, KFC?

1:30 a.m.: "Do you guys serve fried chicken?" 

 Um ... no.

Plunging necklines and FM shoes

11:30 p.m.: Saturday night at the store started with a parade of women dressed like they were headed to a dress-like-a-hooker party.

Wait ... you don't think?

'What are you laughing at?'

3:45 a.m.: A young couple stroll in and spend a few minutes wandering the aisles. The man walks up to the register and purchases a deck of cards. The woman walks up behind him and asks me:

"Sir, do you sell condoms?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Sorry about that."

The man was heading toward the door, snickering as he went.

The woman spun around and said: "What are you laughing at? This isn't good news for you, ya know."