The pumps are working fine today. They still dispense gas, but they sometimes dispense coffee, gravel, or crude oil. Itâs a bit of a game of chance these days.
Cars come and go outside. And come and go. They are always coming and going. The same cars. Over and over again.
A man has been standing in front of the counter for 2 hours, looking in a magazine. âDo you want to buy that?â But he doesnât answer. He sobs weakly, holding the magazine centimeters from his face.
You realize you havenât seen a gas delivery for days. It dawns on you that you donât remember going home, either. Youâre not even sure your nametag says the correct name anymore. Do you even work here?
The cooler door is stuck again. Someone keeps restocking the soda from inside, though. So many bottles. They pour from the shelves like an avalanche.
Patrons peruse the shelves for their products as noon rolls around. An old man heads for the back of the shop, but you donât have the heart to tell him he wonât come back.
A black SUV pulls up next to a trashcan outside and a hand reaches out with a fast food bag, dropping it in. And another. And another. You watch the can fill up, even as the bags begin to fall to the ground. The hand is passing through the driverâs side window.
You remove the lid of the coffee machine to refill it, ignoring the screams as you dump the old grounds out.
Youâre not sure you sell this brand of bubblegum, but the barcode scans okay. You set it down and wipe the blood from your hands as you accept a crisp $20 from the young women.
The security cameras keep showing a crowd of people outside the store, banging on the windows, ramming the doors, and ineffectively hurling bricks and stones at the building, but the lot outside is empty through the windows.
âItâs not a bad job,â you comment to the man by the ice cream freezer. He nods stoicly as he continues to remove neopolitan ice cream sandwiches from the freezer, slowly pushing each one into his mouth, wrapper and all. Heâs been at it for hours.
As 9PM hits, you hear the screech of the low-tank alarm, same as every night. The worshippers walk towards the back wall of the store, same as every night. Only their voices of love to the machine pierce the screeching, clear as day, same as every night.
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