I got stuck in the gas station for Christmas. Mostly because my shift leader forgot I can’t work in the cooler because of my stitches. By the time she realized, though, we were already on shift so whatever.
PIZZAS OUT THE ASS! Come ON, who the FUCK wants gas station pizza for Christmas?! GO EAT A HOME COOKED MEAL WITH YOUR FAMILIES!! I got nowhere near Foofy’s record of 76 Pizzas from last Christmas, but 20 was enough for me.
Also, beer, beer, and MORE beer. We can sell beer on Sundays and Christmas. We NEVER stop selling beer except for between 2 and 6 in the morning. All day long I had to answer the phone to the question "Are you open today? Can you sell beer today?"
At one point, I was answering with, "[Hello], [Store] we are open and sell beer today, how may I help you?," but I stopped when people STILL said "I have a question. Are you open today? Can we buy beer there?"
And then we had the father of all idiots come in.
Idiot: So, you know why your beer is so watered down, right?
Terah: …okay, I’ll bite. Why?
Idiot: Well, you’re on a reservation. And it’s illegal to sell REAL beer to the Indians, so you sell ‘Fire Water’ to them.
I bit my tongue and waited until he left.
HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL PEOPLE?! We are NOT on a reservation! We are NOT ON a Reservation! WE ARE NOT ON A FUCKING RESERVATION AND THERE IS NOT ONE IN THE STATE!
I HATE THAT STATEMENT, I WANT TO PUNCH BABIES AND SET KITTENS ON FIRE WHEN I HEAR IT!
Merry fucking Christmas.
--Terah The Gas Slave