CREEPY NIGHTS AT THE GAS STATION

 

 

       In the late 1970s in Bellingham, Washington, I quit my bank teller job to work at a gas station.  It was an always-open station, where you paid for your gas at a drive-by booth.  Having the night shift, I would man the booth and, during slow hours, would hose down the oily pavement, etc.

       Now and then my boss would come and do the books in the booth's little back room.  Once when he was there, a night driver tried to get me to let him come into the booth to use the phone.  This was a no-no but he persisted, until the boss stepped out of the back room and told the surprised driver to beat it.  It was likely a robbery attempt.

       Then the boss told me of a recent occurrence that happened while he was alone in the booth at night.  A women got gas and drove up to pay, and he saw the legs of a man lying on the floor behind the front seat.  Clever as my boss was, he took the woman's credit card and ran it through the machine, then said, "It shows that there's an alert on your card.  I'll have to keep this."  The woman of course complained, and the boss said that the alternative would be for her to come into the booth while he checks it out.  So, confused and angry, she got out of her car and walked around and into the booth.  Then the boss locked the door, apologized and said there was a man on the floor in her car.  She was shocked, and just as he said this, her car door opened and a man jumped out and ran away.  The boss saved her life.