Saturday, June 23rd
I've recently become employed at a gas station convenience store called Nice N Easy. Looking around, I see nothing "nice" about this place at all, though I do not doubt its accessibility.
My mother has been bothering me about getting a job since the beginning of the school year, but I've been too busy with doing nothing to actually listen. I don't see myself as the type of person who works. Helping other people isn't something I enjoy doing. Communication and smiling are both unfavorable, and when you have a job like this (i.e. working as a cashier at a gas station convenience store) those are two things you must do.
I shouldn't complain, really, as I'm working the night shift, and not many people come around during this time. But the downside is I'm terribly bored. All I'm allowed to do is stand behind the counter and stare at the clock, tick tick ticking away. My shift is from ten PM to 5 AM. That's about seven hours if I'm counting correctly. I'm not too good at math, or telling time as it took me about three years to understand what half past seven meant.
Anyway, back to the point I've been trying to make for three paragraphs. I've decided to chronicle my adventures as a night shift employee in this journal. I'm not a very good journal keeper. It'll be about my time spent at the Nice N Easy, and how I manage to cope with being outside my comfort zone. Interesting, right? I see it as being a psychological study or something like that. Maybe I will undergo a change in work ethic, or personality as my mother suggests a job does.
I guess I should explain who I am, and what my life has been like up until now. My name is Sylvia Laurel Wood, but most of the time I'm called Sylvie. I'm a recent high school graduate, turned eighteen three weeks ago, and have little to no friends. I'm going to college in the fall, though I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I don't think it's healthy to rush into things. Something will come to me, I'm sure, and then I can make a proper decision.
I have some older siblings who I rarely see except during holidays. My eldest sister is twenty-five. Her name is Blythe, and she's a waitress at a gentleman's club in New York City. I'm pretty sure she's not a dancer, or anything, but I've never asked, which makes things unclear. My parents almost had strokes when they found out what she was doing. Blythe's secret is she is also a nude model for art students on weekends. My parents would both die if they knew, and I'd be a left a miserable orphan.
My second eldest sibling is my brother, Patrick, who is twenty-two. He's away at college studying to be a doctor. I don't care for him too much, as Patrick can be an insufferable fuckwit if you're around him too long. He has a girlfriend named Katherine who is perfect in every way. Patrick's secret is his perfect in every way girlfriend Katherine is knocked up with his demon spawn.
My last sibling is a year older than I am. She's Ursula, and people usually associate us as twins, which is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life. Ursula is nineteen, and is staying home for the summer, much to my annoyance. Normally she's away at college. She wants to do interior decorating or something artsy like that.
Ursula's secret is she used to be a boy. I guess she's a transgendered person, or whatever the term is, but I don't really care about gender. If Ursula wants to be a girl, then I have no issue with it. My parents are miserable about the whole thing, though they still buy her hormones and take her to the doctor, and all of that. It's because Ursula is their favorite child. I am a piece of lint stuck to someone's sweater.
The only reason I'm discussing my family's skeletons is because I'm bored and a bit tired. It's only after one right now, and I still have several hours of standing here left.
As much I dislike talking to other people, I wouldn't mind if I had someone working alongside me at this time of night. I'm the only person here. I could be killed at any moment, and no one would be around to notice.
I guess that's my entire life summed up in one sentence though.
Monday, June 25th
It's a ghost town here, I swear. I've heard the same Celine Dion song play on the radio twelve times since I started work. Today I've mopped the floor, rearranged the Pringles display, and helped someone who was incapable of pumping their own gas. My mother said jobs help learn "life lessons", but I haven't learned anything yet. Perhaps I'm being impatient. I'm sure something will happen that will eventually force me to reevaluate my life.
Last entry I mentioned I had little to no friends which isn't an exaggeration. I have two friends, and have kept the same two friends throughout high school: Jillian Kane and Mabel West. Jillian is into fashion while Mabel draws comics, and neither of them work at Nice N Easy because they aren't stupid like I am.
I tried to convince Mabel to send in an application for the night shift since Jillian laughs at the idea of working to earn money, but Mabel refused to listen to me.
"I have other stuff I'm working on right now," Mabel said.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like portfolio stuff. For art school."
"Didn't you already submit your portfolio for art school?"
"You don't understand anything."
Which is true, but I'm not stupid like everyone thinks. Mabel wouldn't shut up about the deadline for her portfolio last March, so it was ingrained into my skull. She was just lying to get me off her back.
Yesterday Ursula took me shopping for jeans. She tried to make me buy stuff, but I'm saving my money for an electric keyboard. She kept nudging me and nudging me.
"You should buy this." She was holding up a bikini two sizes too small for anyone. It gave me a headache.
"You know I can't swim," I told her.
"You should fucking learn how to fucking swim, fucker."
Ursula swears too much. She says it expands your vocabulary, but I don't understand how using one word over and over again helps anything or anyone. Also I don't know how to swim. My parents never taught me, and I never picked up on it. I'm terribly afraid of water, and when I was little it took an entire army to get me into a bathtub.
After shopping, Ursula took me to this café where everyone was wearing plaid and drinking coffee. I sat in the corner all by myself staring out the window. Someone asked me if I was mute, and I told them no.
Ursula made me stay in the corner for an hour before we left. I couldn't leave because I can't drive, and our house was twenty minutes away. Also I hate walking.
Wednesday, June 27th
Tonight the night manager came to see me. I didn't even know we had once of those. Like I said, I'm the only person working at night. When I come in at nine PM there's an older guy with a nose ring, and a blonde girl who looks like she hasn't slept for ten years, and they leave without saying anything to me.
The night manager is this girl named Tansy. She has an undercut and wore these gigantic gold hoop earrings. A tiny dog could probably jump through them, is what I had been thinking the entire time she was talking to me.
"Oh, so you're the new girl they hired, right?" Tansy asked me. She had this weird accent I couldn't place. I wasn't sure if it was even real. I can't picture anyone with an accent working at a gas station.
"Yeah, I'm new," I said.
"Okay, cool, cool." She was nodding her head up and down. "Like I don't come in often, ya know? Cause the boss man, he's my old man, and he doesn't give a shit what I do. But I still have to come in to make sure shit is going okay, okay?"
"Okay."
"Just like, remember to clean up and shit," Tansy said. She kept talking, and I kept staring at her earrings. "And if someone asks you to pump their gas just do it cause it's easier if you do."
"Okay."
Then a car pulled up in front of the store, a sporty red car with the top down. There were a few people crammed in the backseat, and some rocker looking guy driving. He honked the horn and called Tansy's name.
"I got to jet," she said, and it didn't sound dumb in her weird accent. "So, like, what's your name, by the way?"
"My name's Sylvie."
"That's a cute name."
"Oh thanks."
Then she left with the car full of hip people. I've noticed over the years that this town is full of those sorts of people. Everyone is super cool and artsy and modern. They don't care about anything, but they care a lot about how other people see them. It's quite strange. I feel like I'm watching one of those nature documentaries about elephants.
Thursday, June 28th
Today I asked Jillian if she knew who Tansy was. Jillian usually knows who everyone is. That's why she's so bad at school. Her brain is so full of people and names and secrets, there's no room for anything else. Anyway, I asked her about Tansy, and her eyes got very big and wide. We were at her house. I was sitting on her bed, and Jillian was showing me the new fashions she bought during her vacation in the city.
Her eyes got very big and wide and she said, "What? You talked to Tansy McDonald?"
"Yes," I said. "She's the night manager where I work. She came in yesterday, and was talking to me about something, but I wasn't paying attention. Then she got in a sports car, and drove away."
Jillian started clutching at her face, which is something she does when she's excited about something.
"I'm going to kill myself. You work with Tansy McDonald."
"Is Tansy McDonald important? She did seem a bit cool."
"She's the coolest chick in the universe, oh my god. Her mom is this famous model in Paris, you know? And she sends Tansy all of these cute clothes from over there. And her dad owns all of these gas station chains, and they are super fucking rich. I don't know why they live here, to be honest, but shit, that's so cool!"
Then I told Jillian she should send in an application to work at the Nice N Easy with me, so she could meet Tansy McDonald. I was rather impressed with myself, manipulating my friend into doing what I wanted. Of course Jillian was excited over the idea because of Tansy McDonald, and her fashions from Paris.
Hopefully I'll have someone to hang out with now, and work will be less boring.
Tansy hasn't stopped by. She did say she rarely came to work at all, but I'm not mentioning that to Jillian.
Saturday, June 30th
There's a group of motorcycles outside the gas station, humming away, distracting me from mopping up the floor. I never realized they make such a racket. I want to call the police up, but I'm not too good at talking on the phone. I'd probably just mumble, and they'd get upset with me.
I don't know why they're still here. Earlier some of the motorcyclists came into the store to buy some cigarettes. I had to ask for their IDs, which they didn't appreciate, but it's store policy. I pointed to the yellow sign behind me.
"It's store policy," I said.
I only asked for IDs because they were all young-looking. I didn't want to go to prison for selling drugs to minors. The tallest guy showed me his, and the name on it said "Pike".
"That's a fish," I said.
"Yeah, well fuck off," he said.
"Ha, man, you're a fucking fish," one of his friends said, laughing. He puffed out his cheeks like a fish would, I guess, and said, "Show us your gills, man."
"Fuck off," Pike said. He looked pretty mad about the whole thing, and I felt sort of bad for making fun of him.
He gave me this nasty look and said, "Give me the red ones."
I gave him his cigarettes, and said, "Pike's a nice name."
He just frowned at me without saying anything. The girl who was with them started laughing, but she was laughing at me. I don't know why. She never said anything. She kept laughing and laughing until they left.
Now they're still outside, and I'm worried they're going to kill me.