Wilson's Gas Stop

As I stand behind the counter the scent of Big Mac’s and Chicken Nuggets overwhelm the store and clog my nostrils with grease. The only thing that passes this barrier is the gasoline that lingers on hands as bills and greetings are exchanged. The smell is such a part of me that without it I feel uncomfortable. It’s a personalized brand of drug that I need to function. Having it in my body keeps me alive and losing it would make me seize. Fresh air doesn’t exist here. It’s an unheard of idea that only makes sense to a select few. This dependency ridden place functions like an equation. Taking any part away will give you the wrong answer. Following the equation is fundamental to running the shop smoothly.

The constant ringing of timers and cash registers occur so often that you hear them when you’re not there. It’s a buzzing whistle that follows you around like a mental illness. It attacks even when you’re most prepared. When you’ve finally escaped into silence it sneaks in and stabs you. I need to escape, but the demonic intuition stays with me wherever I go. This insanity causes you to turn into a robot, automatically responding to stop the ringing anyway you can.

It looks like a giant threw up blue and this is what came out. Every shade of aqua, turquoise and denim surround me like a cage. Even now, blue surroundings cause me to react like a child caught in a lie. I need to avoid capture. The only relief of blue is the pink, purple and yellow slushies swimming around and around. It continually laps around the container, trying to improve on every stroke. The cycle pulls you in like a fat person in a Speedo. You know it’s something that you shouldn’t look at but you just can’t stop. It’s an experience that breathes lust into your world, forever drawing you back to its enchantment.

Once the shock of blue fades, the store turns into a smoker’s dream. It’s the ultimate selection of cigarettes from all over the world - a true dynasty. There are exotic ones that smell lustrous and soothing. There are classic ones that are harsh and arouse your nostrils. Others are ridden with menthol and the scent is confined to the walls of its carton. They’re tossed around and tainted by the hands of staff yet are still praised by the religious customers who come just to taste its glory. We as staff are gatekeepers to this religion and are key in the monetary sacrifice. The physical barrier between staff and customers only accentuates this position of authority. It stands between us like limbo, separating two worlds yet is connected by one simple act.

Angus

In my first year of University, I traveled to and from the Mount with a friend, Angus, who I worked with at the local gas station. It started out as a convenience, partially because he doesn’t have a car and partially because I am such a nice person. It really makes no sense for two people to go into the same town at the same time in separate vehicles. So we car pooled.

In the first few weeks of our travels together, I tried bring up casual conversation, the weather, classes and work. It was fine and it worked, but as we got more comfortable with each other the rides got a little more revealing. Conversation that started at 8 in the morning was never too perky.

Until I brought Britney Spears in the car with me.

That morning he came out to the car slowly. It was snowing outside and he still had to audacity to wear his *NSYNC t-shirt with no jacket. He beard was unshaven and he fly was half zippered. He had clearly just gotten out of bed. When he slumped down into the passenger side he managed to mumble, “Morning - God I don’t want to go to school.” I nodded in agreement as I pulled out of the driveway and drove towards to highway.

I had kept the music down low for the first few minutes of the drive. Angus didn’t look like he was really in the mood to do anything except return to bed. His uncanny attitude made me unsure of what to expect, so I figured it would be best to play it safe. The music was barely loud enough to hear, and Angus starts to turn it up to hear what exactly is playing. You can make out the tune of Piece of Me, Ms. Spear’s latest hit. Once he realized what song was playing he turned up the music on full blast and started singing the song, word for word. He knew the entire song as if his mother used to sing it to him as a child, belting out his favourite parts of the songs louder than the rest and nailing each word as if they were his own.

As the song came to an end, he turned the music down and settled in his seat. He was no longer tense with excitement and joy, but his mood had definitely changed. He blushed a little through his beard and had a so-what look on his face. I giggled as I realized that our relationship had then completely changed. Singing Britney on our daily commutes became a routine and is something that we continue any time we hang out together.

Fanny Gabriela

Fanny is a 67-year old that completely lacks a sense of reality or responsibility. She currently lives in the basement apartment of her sister’s house in Lower Sackville free of charge. As a sweet and naïve person, Fanny always sees the best in people. So much so, that she gets blinded by hope and fails to see the nasty that lies beneath. All of Fanny’s friends and family know this is true because she was involved in three nasty marriages that all ended in divorce. Her last marriage left her broke and without a job, which is the reason why she has been living in her sister’s house for the past 8 years.

Throughout Fanny’s troubled marriages, she decided to turn to God to get her through. This part of her life has become so fundamental that she won’t go to the doctor because no one should touch her ‘temple’. Her family worries about her because she hasn’t been able to take care of herself and will go without eating for a few days. A couple months ago she fainted and couldn’t go to the hospital for help. This caused uproar with her sister, who feels like she needs to take care of her.

Nevertheless, people always smile when they see Fanny. Whenever they tell her something good, they hear her say “Praise Jesus” or “That’s the Lord”. Even though not everyone Fanny comes in contact with has the same strong faith as she does, they find her sincerity comforting. And she knows that her beliefs will only be reinforced when she goes to her extremist Baptist church on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Sundays. She relies on her faith to keep her going, and to let her know that there is something better for her after this life.

Born a natural brunette, Fanny was gorgeous growing up. All of her pictures from her teen years look like photos of a model. She had long, thick hair that danced down her back. And curves that women of any age crave. After her second divorce, Fanny decided she needed to take some form of control over her life. Her mechanism was bleaching her hair, cutting her bangs in a vertical line across her forehead and shaving off her eyebrow. The Fanny that existed 20 years ago is a completely different person than she is now. On top of changing her beauty-routine, the stress of life has taken a toll on her body as she struggled with being overweight. Though Fanny’s look is somewhat off-course, she knows that all of God’s children are beautiful.

After leaving her last husband, the amount of space she had to live in was reduced by a tenfold. Being the housewife to a wealthy husband, left her opportunity to shop and buy whatever she pleased. Unfortunately, her passion for shopping did not stop when she left the marriage, and continues to spend most of her small-income on unnecessary items such as teddy bears and pillow cases. Her continual buying on top of the amount of things that she already owned leaves her tiny apartment crammed full of her treasures with only a path to walk along and one spot to sit on her couch.

Fanny knows that her obsessive shopping is ridiculous, but it comforts her. And she is only trying to get through this life so that she can move on to better things. She knows that once she goes, she will be welcomed into heaven with open arms and never have to worry about life’s troubles again.