18/7

Sometimes I feel like the intricacies of life overwhelm my senses. I get baffled by tedious work. This new work is tedious on a grand scale.
It isn't grand. It's not even in my forte of sales. When I say forte here it is in the most reductive way possible. I wasn't a natural born seller, I was just fleeced into it like millions before me and like millions after me will continue to do so. I didn't have instinct and whenever I thought a method worked there was always evidence that it didn't, often by stumbling upon different techniques by chance or a sudden brainwave, which then lead me to believe I should start using this technique, but then there would be a new problem to that technique and I would shake my head in a furry and spin in my seat all day long until left completely giddy and nauseous, yearning for that most requited love of all - a drink.
Anyway my new job is no glamorous affair. A simple, humble job. I can now be recognised as a modest man. I'm working as a petrol attendant. I started as a Forecourt attendant. This involved cleaning up spillages, moving cones, buckets and other such items about; opening the carwash, helping unpack deliveries and other general maintenance activities. It was alright, but I was still living frugally as I was only getting a couple of shifts per week. I say frugally, but the conditions I was living in was more akin to poverty.
I wasn't eating much, getting most of my daily calories from cans of boddington. Luckily, boddington does have a shitload of calories as its so creamy, like an alcoholic protein shake. Plus its cheaper than buying one of them ready-eat meals.
Well they've stepped up my position now. When someone makes an enquiry into my profession I can now answer with the eloquent title Petrol Station Clerk. Ha! Well I don't see women lining up for me in account of this. A title's just a title, nevermind what Shakespeare said about roses, and no matter how rich it sounds, the job underneath it is what people will base you on. Infact, the richer the title of the job, the more the company is trying to make up for the crap the job entails.
Anyway, I'm working alot more shifts now which is something. I'll keep you updated with the plethora of different characters I have met thus far.
The regulars are my favourite, mind. In the morning they're the laborers or the people needing their morning fags. By the evening the regulars are the drunks. There is a blind man who comes in every other day, with his guide dog, and buys the same thing everytime - a four pack of stella. I've become so used to it, as soon as he comes in I scramble over to the alcohol fridge and take it back to the counter, ready for him like. Once paid I put it in a carrier and he puts his arms out, outstretched, his hands grabbing at the bag as I carefully direct it into them. Its tragic but poignant. To be honest the crazies and the oddities are the best entertainment I get, as the rest of the job is largely boring. It also depends whom I'm working with. Some of the later ones hardly utter a word, like the strange indian fella I always forget the name of. Dan's an alright guy. Loves his pot. He's one of them guys whose cynical and lazy attitude to life means their job never does justice to their intelligence. And he's by no means an idiot, even if most of his references are to TV programmes.
I'll be getting back to my story of collapse again in not so long, so no fear.
There is one thing I must say about my reception from my coworkers. Apart from the prying women who work the morning shifts, none of the guys care about where I'm from or my story, or even what a guy my age is doing working as a petrol attendant. Its a pleasurable freedom not to have to explain myself or recount my tales of woe, which would no doubt serve to make them all feel crap anyway. Obviously that makes me wonder why I'm telling my story on this blog, but I guess its more for my interest than anyone elses.
My story is my own and I tell it for one person,
myself.