I wonder what it’s like to work at a gas station that’s in the middle of nowhere just off the interstate. And there’s maybe only a diner or a Dairy Queen just across the street. Or sometimes there’s nothing but the gas station.
And most of the people who pass through are just traveling along the highway. You’ll never see them again.
Maybe they tell you where they’re going and why they’re going there. Maybe they ask for directions. Or maybe they just buy the cheap coffee and a road atlas and leave the change behind on the counter only ever saying “thanks” before they leave.
And maybe you do have some truckers who are kind of regulars, maybe you see them once a week or once a month, and you ask them where they call home.
How many people walk in and their car has been abandoned on the side of the road because they ran out of gas, or got a flat.
And you must get tired of giving the same directions back to the highway, to the nearest city, to the nearest repair garage.
And tired of cleaning up the soda and sugar spills all over the counter and the floor because people don’t care enough to grab a napkin. Or maybe someone else took 50 napkins and there are none left to clean up the spill but no one ever bothers to tell you they are out and so you don’t see it until you’re restocking things.
Maybe sometimes you work the graveyard shift and watch crappy reruns and infomercials on the tv behind the counter. But you go home while the sun is rising and it is just as beautiful here in the middle of this small quite town as it is anywhere else in the world and that’s as nice a comfort as anything else.