"Are You Insane?"

4:30 AM:

A slow, quiet, pleasant Sunday night now turned early Monday morning. I had completed my numerous chores fairly early; compiled the shift and daily reports; just finished mopping the floors and was anticipating a soon-to-arrive delivery when a car pulls up to the pumps. 

A man comes in and puts a $100 bill on the counter and gruffly demands, "Put $30 on pump two." He seems impatiently hurried.

"Do you by chance have anything smaller than a $100?" I ask. "Unfortunately, I don't have much in the till right now. But I can drop more out of the safe if you can wait a few minutes?"
"I don't have a few minutes," he says. "Just put $30 on pump two."
"I am sorry but I do not have enough in the till right now to give you change," I say.
"You don't have $70 in the till?" he asks.
"No, I do not."
"Why the hell not?"
"We don't keep much in the till this time of day," I explain. "It deters robbers."

He shakes his head in disbelief and says, "What are you a moron?"
"I don't think so," I reply. "But I am stronger in some subject areas than others . . . I never did like algebra or calculus . . . I had to take a course called Math for Marines before being accepted into demolitions school . . . I also . . "

He cuts me off.

"I don't have time for this."

He puts the $100 back in his wallet, pulls out a $20, throws it on the counter and says something to me as he begins to leave, but I couldn't quite make it out.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. I assume you want to put $20 on pump two?" I ask.

He stops, turns, looks at me and says, "Clean your ears. Are you deaf and stupid?"
"I cleaned my ears yesterday," I reply. "I used Q-tips, although they aren't actually Q-tips brand, so I suppose I should more accurately say cotton swabs, generic. Anyway, as a matter of fact, my hearing is not so good. I blame the Marine Corps. My son sometimes says, 'Dad, why don't you get a hearing aid?' to which I will reply, 'Why don't you speak correctly,' all in good fun, of course, and we both get a kick out of it and laugh and . . . "

He cuts me off again.

"You're an idiot," he says.

He heads out the door and toward the pumps. I go around the counter and follow him outside.

"So I assume you want $20 on pump two?" I ask again.
"Isn't that fucking obvious, you moron," he says.
"The only thing obvious to me is what a miserable asshole you seem to be," I reply.

I hold out his $20 to him and say, "Here's your money back, why don't you just leave now."

He gives me an incredulous look.

"Excuse me?"
"You can leave now," I say again. "Get out of here."
"Do you know who I am?" he asks. "Do you know Mr. Store Owner?" 

(Mr. Store Owner, of course, is not the store owners real name, but his real name is reflected in the store's name and I have agreed with my boss to not mention such details. Besides, Mr. Store Owner is actually now Mr. Previous Store Owner, having sold his stores to Mr. New Store Owner who has kept Mr. Previous Store Owners real name on the stores.)

"No, I do not know who you are," I reply. "But you seem like an arrogant asshole. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Owner, but I hear he is a great guy."

He moves closer to me, somewhat aggressively.

"Are you insane?" he asks.
"Maybe," I reply.

He glares at me for a bit, backs off, and says, "Your boss is going to hear about this!"
"Yes, she will," I reply. "I will be telling her about it when she arrives later in the morning."

Which I did.

Her response:
"Dave, don't worry about it. I don't expect you to put up with that kind of thing."

I have a good boss.