It was late and darker outside than I would have liked. Just off work as a part-time receptionist at a convalescent center in a strange part of town. My mom had gotten me the job after I had almost totaled her car. My older sister used to have the same job at the facility. My mom happened to run into Dr. Beery at church one Saturday. Doctor Beery knew that there was an opening because her youngest daughter was going to be leaving the position. (Dr. Beery, I suspect, had gotten my sister her job there as well since my sister was good friends with Susie Beery, another of Dr. Beery’s daughters.) I digress.
Strange part of town. It is supposedly dangerous for a woman or man to walk alone at night in this neighborhood.
The only walking I have to do on this night is from the doors of the convalescent center to my parked car, about thirty steps away. I reached my car without incident – no thanks to the absent security guard who oversees the parking lot. (I had agreed to clock him out after he had already left so he could get paid for not working and not get fired for leaving before his shift ended.) Again, I digress.
It’s not until I buckle myself into my mom’s now-repaired white Pontiac station wagon, that I remember the gas tank is on empty. Crap! I meant to get gas before coming to work and had completely forgotten.
I knew there was a Standard Oil station near the ramp onto the freeway I would be taking to get home. It was less than a mile away so I knew I’d have enough gas to at least get there.
I pull into the deserted – yet open – gas station and stay in the car. I’m going to get full service on this occasion even though it will cost me 25 cents more per gallon than self-serve. It’s too dark and scary to get out of my car. I turn off the engine and wait for the attendant to appear. (If you’re a millennial, you probably don’t even know what a full-service gas station even is!)
The area surrounding my parked car is eerie. Because I read a lot of suspense novels, my imagination is able to conjure up all sorts of frightening thoughts. What was that shadow? Is that a person lurking over behind that telephone pole?
Where is the gas station guy anyway? I’ve been sitting here for at least three minutes and since there are no other cars in the lot, I know he doesn’t have other customers keeping him busy.
Oh, no! Maybe he was held up and shot and he’s waiting for me to come save him? Well, fat chance of that! I won’t be taking my CPR class Ohio State for another two quarters. Besides, I’m not getting out of this car and daring the death trek to the innards of the service station.
Another minute passes.
This is ridiculous! But I can’t leave. I have no gas. I can’t think of another service station for miles – miles I don’t have enough gas to cover.
I’ve had it. I’m angry now. Is he trying to scare me? I honk my horn.
I see him now, standing behind the counter, acting all cool and cocky. At least, that’s what I perceive from this pretty far distance.
I honk again. Doesn’t he realize that I’m by myself and getting just a bit hysterical about the murderers that are hiding in the shadows of the street lamps? Come on, man!
I honk again. No response. My honking is just escalating my paranoia.
Are they closed? If so, they shouldn’t have all their lights on. But maybe that’s why no one else is here. Everyone else knows the station is closed. Or maybe the gas station attendant killed the other customers.
I’m panicked. I may run out of gas on the highway, but I’ve got to risk it. Calling AAA from the road sounds like a safer alternative than waiting for a murderer to pump my gas in this haunted place.
I start the car and head home. And I make it there without running out of gas. I have to admit though, that my mom was not too pleased that she would have to get gas in the car first thing the next morning.
A few nights later, I leave work again. This time, comfortable knowing there is plenty of gas in my tank.
I stop at a light just across from the haunted gas station. I glance over and am embarrassed beyond belief. Above the island of gas pumps where I had parked just days before, was a humongous, couldn’t- miss-it-if-you-tried, in-your-face sign that blared, “SELF SERVE ONLY”. ✿
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