14 Pumps And 400 Feet Of Register Tape

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Your neighbor is the man who needs you.—Elbert Hubbard

Uuuuggggh! It turned out to be 10 hours in Arconia. Ten hours on my fracturing heels processing pump orders. Processing, processing, processing. Grabbing twenties and punching in pump amounts as fast as my fingers could go. There is no end of gas consumption in Los Angeles. No end.

Hell is a lot of things. Yes. There are many levels of hell. One of them is 14 gas pumps and 400 feet of cash register tape.

Creepy brought me a surprise plate of spaghetti around 5. He came sashaying across the gas station parking lot in his fire engine red Daisey Duke cutoff jean shorts carrying the aluminum foil-wrapped plate like a West Hollywood waiter bringing dinner to his biggest tipper. I was mortified.

It looked WAY too snugly wugly domestic blissness to my Arco co-workers and they started teasing me about being gay.

Screw it. I don’t care what they think. I was hungry and my roommate makes a mean plate of spaghetti.

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Link to my viral video.

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