From Daily Mail
A video has emerged of an angry woman trashing a gas station in front of shocked shoppers and staff.
The footage, which appeared on YouTube on Tuesday, began by showing the unidentified woman sitting on one of the counters inside the store.
Clutching a paper soda cup in one hand, she told one employee how she would 'beat' his 'a***' after being freed from jail where she was due to serve time for disorderly conduct.
It's not clear where or when the video was taken. The woman shouted 'ATL' repeatedly at one point, suggesting she may from Atlanta, Georgia.
She then tossed packets of candy on the floor before knocking over the computer at the register as onlookers gasped and staff pleaded: 'You need to calm down.'
'I did it, I did it. Call 'em,' she said, egging on workers who had threatened to phone the police.
She then hopped down from the counter and appeared to walk away, shouting: 'See ya, wouldn't want to be ya.'
Before leaving the gas station, she walked the aisles running her hands along shelves of goods so they fell to the ground.
As she became more aggressive in her rampage, other customers urged her to stop.
The woman eventually was shown out by a male shopper who appeared to escort her to the door from the back of the store.
Police Atlanta told DailyMail.com they hadn't yet been aware of the video but were looking in to it.
Read more Daily Mail
There was this one customer. Let's call him Dave.
Dave would rent 1 video each visit, but usually something tasteful to either satisfy his boring libido or to watch with the wife. A big fan of Vivid Video. Whatever, I'm the guy behind the counter, who the fuck am I to judge?
Anyway, Dave would always rent just one boring shitty tape each week. He's pay for a one night rental and invariably bring it back a few days late. Never long enough to get a phone call, but enough times that he was running a tab. Dave also, either worked as some sort of Pirate performer or REALLY liked Pirates.
Like, he would always come into the store dressed as one... down to the bandana, scruffy beard and LIVE PARROT ON HIS SHOULDER. If you made the mistake of accepting the late tape from his hands, the fucking bird would squawk violently at you, stretching out its plumage to make sure you knew you were its bitch.
This amused Dave mightily. It also forced me to rehire constantly because some of the kids concluded that $6.85 an hour wasn't worth dodging a cockfighting parrot. If you told Dave to just leave the tape on the counter, nothing ever happened.
Fast forward about a year and a half later and his late tab is up over $500, and my absentee owner starts to suddenly give a shit, says I need to get on his ass. His idiot brother in law who was busy running the other location into the shitter had also put it in his head that sales were down because I was skimming late fees and the owner makes the mistake of saying this to my face.
I respond: "Okay "Bob", no problem, I'll get him paid up within two weeks."
Translation: get the fuck out of my store you asshole. If I was gonna steal or skim, there's way easier ways of doing it than that.
A few days later, in comes Dave. I'm behind the counter, checking in new stock, and he of course is dressed as usual and with a tape in hand. I call him over since there was no one else in the store at 1pm anyway and I tell him that the owner's coming down hard on his tab. He says he doesn't have that kind of money right now and asks if he can make payments, to which I said, the owner wants his money in two weeks or he wants me to send him to collections.
He takes the bird off his shoulder and sets it down on the counter. Apparently that's what pirates do when they talk business.
He says to me that there's no way he can find that extra scratch so quickly, but maybe we can help each other out. My ass cheeks automatically fuse shut in anticipation of his proposal. He leaves the bird on the counter and heads out to his car saying he's gonna grab something and will be right back and won't obviously just leave the bird.
He comes back with this bag. Like a kitchen catcher bag, so bigger than a grocery bag but smaller than a trash bag. He says he thinks this bag will make it go away. I am no longer fearful of being violated, now I just hope it's not a gun because I'm not taking a bullet for $500 some odd dollars of some dirtbag's greasy porn money.
He says, the bag is worth over $1000, but no collection calls, no escalation, it's mine in exchange for wiping his lates off his account. I'm skeptical. He says to lock the front and back doors.
OK, now I'm freaked out, but I do it because WTF, am I going to refuse Cap'n Crunch?
With the doors locked, he pulls the bag's contents out: A 3 pound bag of weed. It didn't look like three pounds, but the heft was there. He put his dope inside of one of those medium sized space bags you'd only see on QVC or the shopping channel at the time; the kind where you fill it up with supposedly linens and sweaters, zip it closed and then attach a vacuum hose to this spout on the bag to take out the excess air.
"These things are the greatest for dope. You'll be able to taste the Yucatan"
Decisions, decisions. I can refuse his offer and risk pissing off a guy who obviously knows some pretty gnarly dudes, or I can take it.
I take it.
I clear his account and take the space bag up to the cottage that weekend. On night two, we're all pretty baked but I'm still bitching a bit about being accused to skimming late fees by Bob. My buddy Tony (who had been seemingly unconscious for 7 hours in a lawn chair, half his face sunburned) lifts his head up in a moment of clarity:
"Bro, didn't you just do that for this weed?"
I want to laugh but I can only muster, "the right response is thank you, motherfucker"...and then I laugh uncontrollably, almost falling into a bonfire.
We obviously came nowhere near smoking the whole bag. It was the weekend before Labour Day, which meant that that upcoming week was frosh week, or freshman week I guess to the Americans reading this. Also keep in mind that we still had grade 13 and the drinking age is 19 here not 21.
Can't advertise dope, but you can get a cylinder of beer, get a legal one-night liquor license from the liquor store, post a copy of it on a lawn sign so the cops leave you alone, and legally charge a cover, and voila...just another frosh week kegger.
One of my buddies spread the contained word through the rugby team, and in the morning, we had almost $900. I took $500, ready to give it to Bob the next day when he came in for the deposits. He never brought it up. Then he didn't again the next week. Or the one after. Once I cleared Dave's account, it didn't appear on the Printout report, so it was out of sight, out of mind for him I guess.
He never brought it up again. I kept that cash handy for a few months in case he suddenly remembered, but he never did. I wasn't surprised, he was working almost totally on his websites at the time and didn't care about the stores.
He was a dummy with the store books. There was a lot of contraband porn from Quebec so that was my theory why he didn't care as much as he should have. Quebec has more lax porn restrictions. He'd get them across the border. Sometimes they were hot tapes, other times just not legal in Ontario yet.
So I was working the dreaded 1p-9p shift at my local C-Store. Now for the day shifters this was the shift that everyone came in super cranky because you're literally dealing with the shit bags that come into our store for the entire day. But I suppose it could be worse.
As I was walking in I was following behind this guy in maybe his mid twenties/early thirties and he just reeked of weed. No judgement, I subscribe to /trees. As I'm clocking in, he's purchasing his coffee and goes on his way, no biggie. My ass. manager turns to me and goes "That sleeze has been in here eight times already since I started at six."
I shrug "Well was it mostly all coffee? Maybe he works at that new SnoIce stand down the street. I dunno." It really wasn't a big deal to me, she clocked out I did the usual selling cigarettes and weekend beer. I passed a district cigarette check, which is cool because our manager gives us five bucks when that happens which means dinner. All is good in the hood.
I did notice that this "sleeze" of a guy had been in a few more times. In fact it was almost seven o'clock and I needed to hands to count how many times in he was in. He came up to my register and asked for a pack of Marb Reds.
Sleeze: What? You're fucking shitting me? In Louisiana I could buy a carton for fifteen bucks.
D: Yeah, well in New York it's like twelve bucks a pack. Do you want the Marbs or not? We have Pall Malls on sale for $6.45
S: I don't smoke that trash, but I'm not paying eight dollars for these.
At this point I want to note that he REEKS of beer. Like he's sweating the shit and he can't even stand up straight and I'm trying really hard to understand him. Now some middle aged lady that was in line behind him butts in.
MAL: C'mon guy. We've all got places to be. Quit harassing the poor girl and make your purchase or leave.
Sleeze buys his cigarettes and heads out to his car. The middle age lady is sort of perplexed about the whole thing but it doesn't really faze me. We get worse guys. I happen to look out the front window as this guy pulls out, he's swerving and almost hits someone that takes out through a red light right infront of the store.
I call up my coworker who was working on retagging the candy section and have him watch till while I call the non-emergency number for the police; give them the car description and license plate and wait for the officer to come in.
It takes about ten minutes for the officer to arrive and we have a minute of "Omg how have you been?" because he used to be the officer liason at my high school and is all around a really nice lady. As I'm writing my description who should pull up to Pump 4? Yup. Sleezey guy.
D: Are you shitting me? That's him on 4. hits the button so he can pump his gas
Officer: Are you serious? What idiot does that?
Sleeze finishes pumping his gas and comes inside.
S: I'm such a moron. I forgot to get gas.
O: Why don't we have a little chit chat?
She pulls him out of the store (after letting the guy pay) and procedes to call in another officer. They do the whole the field sobriety while officer two tears his shitty little Jeep to shreads. My jaw is on the floor as I see baggies and baggies and baggies of cocaine get pulled out from this car.
The big sheriff SUV pulls up and so does my DM. You see, our DM lives less than a block from our store so he sees everything. He comes in, watches with us and because this is such a big bust the officers ask us to close shop while they get this guy out of here. I get a nice pat on the back and a fifty dollar bonus on my next check.
It wasn't a bad shift for being a 1-9.
From Terah when she worked in Gas Station Hell, posted to RHU, December 2010:
This is a story that happened a couple years ago, but we brought it up today at work somehow, and I decided I'd let you guys hear.
It was a SLOW fucking day in the gas station, I was working with Moon (my nickname for her, everyone else calls her 'Sister') and just finished sweeping the floors.
I went up to the registers and saw the butane lighters on display. We had had some that consisted of moving parts, designed like casino games (Cards, Slots, ect) and stood there for a few minutes just spinning one that looked like a roulette wheel, before walking off to put the broom up and get cigarettes. (When I say slow, I mean SLOW. We'd had MAYBE 2 customers between us in the past hour. I remember the slow days like that)
Before I can get to the door in the back, Moon calls me back over, because a lady had come in with a lighter for a refund.
No problem, Terah bounces up like a good little soulless drone and asks what the problem is. The lady was on something, that was obvious to even me, and I'd had a sheltered life up until my introduction to the level of hell that is Retail.
I don't know WHAT she was on, but I'm calling this one Meth Head (MH).
MH: My husband bought me this ligther, but I already have one. Can I return it.
MH: Why not?
She wasn't hateful, she was really quiet, but as Moon later told me it was probably because she was higher than a kite.
I explained it wasn't one of our lighters. She picked one off a display case and said 'Yes it is. See, it looks just like this.'
Terah: No, they only look similar. See, this design is different, the clickers are colored different and! [Rings up her lighter] 'Not found in database'.
MH: Oh, okay.
MH has produced a more expensive lighter.
MH: I'm sorry, THIS is the one I wanted to return. This was from here.
Terah: ... you didn't buy that lighter.
MH: No, my husband did, I need to return it.
I tried to not laugh or yell. It was funny and I was pissed at the same time.
I told her I wouldn't do a return several times, and it just looped between 'my husband bought it I don't need it' and 'I'm not returning this, please leave.'
MH: Well why not?
Terah: Because in the past hour, I've had two customers before you, we've been SO slow, I got bored and started playing with the butane lighters.
There was ONE lighter in the display with a roulette wheel that moved and [grabs said display and slams it down on the counter where we could both see it] it's not in here anymore.
I was messing with that not five minutes before you came in.
Please leave the lighter behind and get out of this store before I call security on you.
She just wandered on out and I haven't seen her since.
--Terah the Gas Slave