My Early Work Career "The Gas Station Horror"

I thought I’d post a story about the days of yore when I was in high school and worked as a pump monkey in a gas station. This was at a time before self-serve gas stations and I pumped gas, checked the oil, cleaned the windows and checked the tire pressure. Gas was thirty two cents a gallon, most fill ups were just under five bucks, and if I was lucky, they would say “keep the change”.
I worked the night shift, 6pm to midnight. I went to work after sports practice in high school at around 6:00pm. I hated the night shift. It was a Texaco station located right next door to the Kwik Shake Drive Inn, the hang out of my entire high school and of course all of my friends. You’d think that all the weirdest and worst stuff happens during the day, but nope. Guys drunk at 7pm digging through the trash and demanding change. Pissed off steel mill workers who hated their jobs as much as I did. Dumb office workers who thought they’re better than the steel mill workers. Drunk and sick college students. High school boys looking for “the rubber machine” and girls looking for a Kotex machine.
I arrive early (5:45) and clock in. I pull on the horrendously para-military olive drab work shirt (with my name on one side and the Texaco star on the other) and matching pants and I am ready to work and for the boss to go home and leave me by myself and in peace. I muttered my hello's and goodbye’s to the boss as he was leaving. He said “There’s a present for you in the bathroom…” Figuring it was one of those little religious pamphlets I was constantly finding on the counters (side note - you people are idiots. You will NEVER, EVER convert anyone to your religion by leaving a come to Jesus pamphlet on top of the toilet tank in a Texaco station, and you’re just pissing everyone off), I stroll nonchalantly towards the bathroom to remove the imagined offending item.
I open the door to discover a visage of sheer horror. Rising above the rim of the toilet like a blasphemous monolith to unknown toilet gods is the biggest turd I have ever seen in my life. Crapping this thing out must have taken an effort of Herculean proportions, as it appeared to be over a foot long, and roughly the circumference of a spray paint can. And black! Blacker than the tortured soul of Jeffrey Dahmer himself! What in the name of Jeebus Crust had this person eaten to create such an abomination? This thing was actually sticking out of the toilet! Did this monstrous turd lift the remitter off the seat as it emerged? Who had performed this feat of dreadful anal birth? Was it the “gimme a bucks” worth guy? Was it the “gotta pack of matches back there buddy” drunk? The ‘63 Corvette dude? The Pepsi delivery guy? Oh no, it wasn’t that hot girl from Central was it? I would never hit on her again if it was.
Flushing did little to diminish the hulking mass of crap. I walked out and told my boss that he’s cleaning it up. There was no way in hell that I’d cowboy up and wrangle that bronco.

His only reply was, “You should have seen it before I broke it in half”.

All of this for $1.10 an hour.