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| - I know what you're thinking, judgmental reader. Who yelps about a gas station? Well I must ask you, judgmental reader - who reads reviews about gas stations? You either pass them if they look dangerous with their off-the-hook (literally) payphones, half-off hookers, and skinny hooded dudes on bikes, or you pull in and contemplate just how sick you could actually get from the hot dogs. And if you're a cheap fatty, you disregard and grab a hotdog while proceeding to do mental math on the price of gas.
I come in here with my girlfriend after work every night to stock the pantry with supplies. Jager, Redbull, chardonnay, a water jug for the next morning, cigs, mints & the occasional bag of cashews if I feel like cooking Thai that week. Maybe even a Voss tangerine water for the lady. Can I get impulsive? How about a Chicago style dog that tastes way too good for coming out of the depths that it does. I've seen them use gloves. Rest easy. You're on a budget, and you're not gonna' live forever. Chill. You probably pick your nose and couldn't pay me enough to smell your couch. Just trust me on this one.
I know what you're thinking, judgmental reader. You can get these items anywhere. Know what you can't get anywhere, judgmental reader that has nothing better to do than be three paragraphs deep in a Shell Station yelp? You can't get Jose everywhere. Jose is the epitome of customer service. Seven nights a week. No days off. Never looks irritated despite dealing with disgruntled people going into a gas station. You ever been happy going into a gas station? In my experience, it's a constant string of "I got other ish to do, give me my gum" moments. I want a Gatorade. I'm hungover and won't have Jager until later tonight once Jose blesses me with his good graces. Cool Frost? Frosty Cool? Anti-freeze Coolant? Can't remember what flavor I like. The colors all look alike - whatever, I'll grab "Dead Eskimo Frost Bite." Here's where we regret debating between light blue Gatorades for so long, because now we're stuck in line behind some lady and her scratchers and some dude needing gas, AND exact change. It's aggravating enough to go into a gas station clutching your wallet like you're fresh out an armored truck with a blue bag of crisp reality changers for the degenerates around you, but to have the process be held up by some fatty paying $8.00 on pump 4 for $7.23 worth of gas wit' they broke self? Who seriously goes into gas stations and gives exact change based off a budget? Shame. Shame. Shame. By then, you're impatient, scatter brained and in need of a shot. You mess up. You leave, turn on the car, and hear that dinging that brought you there in the first place. Besides needing booze and cashews. You forgot that you needed gas. You gotta' go back in.
Jose doesn't judge you for coming back to ask for gas though. Jose already knew you needed gas. It's that time of the month. Jose knows I'll need Jager at 10:48PM weekday nights, and anywhere from 11:54PM to 12:32AM weekend nights. He's a maestro. I don't even own a calendar anymore. I just ask Jose at the end of the night what day it was. Dude probably knows when my girlfriend is on her period. We just don't get tampons there though, because...well, Shell station. Regardless. He's a robotic service industry standard. Already had Chicago dogs ready. Looked through my soul and realized I hadn't eaten enough dead fries before my shift ended. That's a homie. And this, is a loyal customer. Shell station for life, judgmental reader. Jose, for life.
The undercover cop car out front is always there, by the way. So if you gotta' do something weird, carry on. Trust me. No one actually drives it. Also, the grease traps out back are a great place to pee if you can't be bothered to go inside and ask for a bathroom key while your girlfriend is buying booze. You'll abandon the shame after the first few times, judgmental reader.
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