Night Shift

I like working nights, especially here at the service station.  At least in the summer.  In summer the nights are cool and calm, the work is steady but slow.  On day shift the attendants have to help the mechanic with light-duty stuff like plugging tires and changing oil; things they can do between customers on the drive.

At night we rarely have those things to do.  We clean, mostly.  We wait with anticipation for the ding-ding of the driveway bell, calling us to action.  Then we put on a cheery smile and trot out to the car on the drive, “Good evening, how may I help you?”

Sometimes they’re pleasant back, most often they just grunt, “Fill it with regular.” Or if they’re especially callous, just “Regular.” And leave the amount as implied.

But that’s OK.  Serving the customer with a smile, checking the oil, water,  tires, cleaning the windshield while the gas pumps in, and being pleasant even when they’re not is why we’re here.  Except for the occasional gas-war, everyone’s prices are pretty close to the same; it’s the service we give that keeps people coming back.  At least that’s what management tells us.

I finish up and walk to the driver’s window, coin changer jingling on my hip. “You’re all filled up, that will be eight seventy three please.” While he digs his wallet out of his back pocket I report, “Your water is fine, oil is down about a half-quart, not enough to worry about yet.  Tires are good now.  The right front was two pounds low so I aired it up, you should keep an eye on it.  If it goes down again bring it in and we’ll fix it for you.”

“Yeah, OK, thanks.” He says absently as he hands me a ten dollar bill.

“Out of a ten.”  We always verify what they handed to us.  I keep the bill dangling between fingers while I peel a buck off my change roll.  Never put their bill away until the transaction is complete.  I click out a quarter and two pennies, “A dollar twenty seven is your change, sir.  Thank you for coming in.”

He stuffs the change in his shirt pocket, “Yeah, good night.” starts his engine and pulls the steering column mounted shifter down into ‘drive’.

My change roll has enough larger bills to get by, so I take his ten in and poke it down the drop safe in the floor.  We have to be careful not to carry too much cash on us: tempting thieves is dangerous, especially at night when we have just a skeleton crew of two or three guys.

Jim and Al are listening to a program on the radio.  They re-stacked the oil can display and filled the spark plug trays so I wander back outside, grab a push broom and start to sweep the bits of debris off the drive.  I glance up and marvel at the way the canopy lights light up the pump area bright as day, but the sky above is black as coal and speckled with diamonds.

Cars slide past on the street.  Occasionally I see one I recognize and wave, they wave back.  Once in a while – a couple times a week maybe – someone I exchanged waves with will wheel around at the corner, circle back and pull in.  They know I can’t ‘jaw’ with them if I’ve got customers, but we can talk for a minute if I’m cleaning up.  They know how it is: an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.

The only time I have a hard time with anyone is when one of the rich-kids from school pulls in to treat me like some low-life slave.  They know I have to take it – and smile – or they can rat me out to my boss and I could get fired.  Just because they get all their dough handed to them by daddy without ever having to lift a finger to earn anything, they think they’re better than us.  I think they’ve got it backwards.  We’re the ones who will know how to get along in life when we are out of school.

A cool breeze tickles my cheek, bringing me back to the here and now.  I check my watch; 9:55, time to flip off most of the lights and take the pump meter readings.  It will take me a few minutes to log in the pump readings, and calculate sales.  We drop all the rest of our change money down the safe.  The Manager will count it in the morning and check it against the sales figure.  It will match fine: it always does.  The Night Shift is honest and accurate.

I lock the door and bid the others a good night.  Jim’s hot rod T-Bird shatters the still night with its “blatt-blatt-blatt” exhaust noise. Then with a roar and a squeal of tires he swings it out onto the street and races off.  He’d best hope officer Malloy isn’t waiting for him down there.  He does that sometimes!

I suck in a deep breath of crisp air, take one last look around to be sure I didn’t leave anything out and slide into my car.  I need to get home.  I have school in the morning.

I like working nights.  And I like working here.  Maybe I’m just a pump jockey, but I like it, and I like getting my paycheck at the end of each week.  It feels good earning my own money.  And I like being helpful, even if most people don’t seem to notice.  Once in a while, one does.  And that just makes my whole night.