I don't read lips. Please put down the phone and talk!

I understand that many of you people may be "busy", or at least believe that you are busy when in fact it just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, but please put your cell phone calls on hold when you are talking to the man in the box. Every day I see many people who are in a hurry to get to the next place. They run up to the window with their cell phone glued to their head and they mouth what they need. First of all there is a very special and cutting edge speaking device built just for the box that allows you to hear me and me to hear you. When I greet you as you approach the window I would assume it would be a dead give away that this speaker will be our form of communication. And I know you can hear me when I greet you due to the fact that many people on their cell phones tell the person on the other line, who has obviously heard me, that they are just getting gas. If you are going to interrupt the conversation to say this, why not just tell them before hand and put the conversation on hold for the entire thirty seconds it will take? Then there are the "pointers" as I like to call them. You can pick these people as they "strut" up to the window with their really rad swagger. Then they throw the money in the drawer and just point. They just point in the direction of where their car is parked. This would not be a bad thing if their car were the only car at a gas pump, but this is rarely the case. More times than not, wherever this person points there will be multiple cars. At least hold up a number of fingers and give me a hint to which pump you are at and unless you are at pump one and missing every other finger besides your middle finger, don't hold up that finger. Let us not forget the texting folk. Now people talking on their phones are bad, but they are nothing compared to the people who approach the box while in the middle of a text. Not even my greeting is able to jolt them out of their trance. It is like they are on a mission and if they don't type in that final HaHa or LOL all will all be lost. It is as if everything must be put on hold for this one super important text (hopefully it is their request for fuel on pump 8). Finally after their more "important" deed is done they are able to ask for some gas. After I have stood their waiting for much longer than necessary. The man in the box is simply asking that you put your cell phone down for the short period of time you will be talking to me. It isn't like I'm asking you to not talk on the phone the entire time you fuel up, although this is dangerous and can lead to the creation of static electricity and become a potential hazard around the gasoline fumes, just while your communicating with me. Think about it.

I need to know my zip code to get gas?

I think the more appropriate question to be asked here is how is it that so many people do not know their own zip code. A little background first. As of recently the box has installed a new safety mechanism that requires people using credit cards to enter a zip code. If you don't know the correct zip code then the card will be denied. Seems like a pretty good idea right? I am guessing the people who designed this new system would have never guessed the problems that it would create, for the people using it and the man in the box. These people must have assumed that people know their own zip code. I would argue that this is a very good assumption. I know my zip and I hope that all of you know your zip code as well. If you don't know the zip code that is attached to the credit card I have a magic trick for you. Look on the bill that you receive for your charges throughout the month. I suppose this is another assumption. I am assuming that everyone looks at their billing statements from their credit cards. If not then we have an even bigger problem on our hands. The man in the box is simply asking that if you are a living, breathing, functioning individual that you should either know or figure out your zip code. And I realize it may be a stretch, but if your billing address zip code is not the same as your house zip code then memorize both, please.

It is a bit slick out there

Today Utah received a substantial amount of snow. One thing that must be known is that people in Utah are incapable of driving in snowy conditions, which baffles me since Utah is supposedly home to the greatest snow on earth you would assume it's population could drive in it. This unfortunately is not the case. Although I tried my hardest to clear the snow and lay down plenty of salt to avoid ice, I was evidently unsuccessful. Shortly after shoveling snow and laying down a substantial amount of salt I went back in the box to warm my bones. I had been inside the box reading for probably no more than an hour when I heard a crunching noise outside. I peered out of the window to see a car backing away from a destroyed garbage can and a heap of garbage. After controlling my laughter, I walked out to see what had happened. I walked outside to see the lady fueling her car, apparently unaware she had just hit my garbage can/metal pole that is intended to keep the garbage safe. I started looking at the damage that lay before me when I heard the lady say "It is a little slick out here." Oh really I pondered to myself, not wanting to insult her for what was an obvious accident. After expressing her deepest sympathy for what she had done to my garbage can we took a look at her car to see if there was any substantial damage. Fortunately there was only a few minor scratches and a slight dent on her fender. She was evidently not worried about the damage to her car and was in a hurry to get somewhere, so she apologize again and was on her way. Then I began my cleaning bout. The garbage had been shot out of its holster and tipped over, which caused the contents to spew all over the ground. At this point I became overwhelmed with frustration and anger. The most frustrating thing was the horrendous smell coming off the garbage heap. It was a beautiful mixture of sour milk/baby vomit and used cigarette smell. Not just any used cigarette smell mind you, but the smell of a wet used cigarette. Which is far worse than anything a cigarette can produce--if you have not had the pleasure I suggest you give it a try, it is to die for. After I had put the garbage back into a bag I started to reassemble the garbage can. For some odd reason the garbage was having a hard time going back into it's frame. Upon closer inspection I came to realize that there was some major damage done to the garbage can holster. The frame that encases the garbage can was all bent up and I was the lucky one who got to unbend it so I could replace the can. As you may imagine I was unable return the frame to it's former glory. Now the garbage can sits out there all mangled and pitiful. The metal pole that protects the garbage can lost some of it's red paint to the car's bumper. As for me I had to explain this incident to my boss without laughing hysterically!!

It is a sad day for men young and old

Today while in the box I came up with the clever idea of keeping track of the people who came up in utter confusion of how a gas pump operates. The study was broken down into four different fields. The first was the sex of the individual, male or female. The second was whether the male or female was a younger individual or someone in their later years. After my study I am sorry, but not surprised, to report that the male citizens of my little town, young and old, far outnumbered the females. The ratio I was able to come up with is a close 1-5. This means that for every one female who could not figure out how to work a gas pump there was five males. One of the more baffling things I discovered in my study was the fact that the younger men were dead equal with the older gentlemen I helped. When it came to females coming to ask for help the older women were more likely to not understand what to do. I feel that this is somewhat reasonable considering they have not been surrounded with technology their entire lives. This is not to say that a gas pump is the latest in new technological innovations, I promise you it is not. All that I am trying to say is that the female population of my town is far more intelligent than the male population.

It has come true, at least for now

I had a dream, I dreamt that one day the man in the box would no longer be seen as an enemy of the people. That the man in the box would no longer be seen as an evil box man. That the man in the box would not be seen as the evil man raising gas prices for my own benefit. A day when the man in the box would no longer be accused of stealing the fuel rewards of everyone who buys groceries. Alas this day has finally arrived and it is a beautiful thing. I am no longer the man who is yelled at relentlessly and accused for the high gas prices. Not since the prices have gone down have I been called a crook. In fact the opposite is now occuring. People cheerfully walk up to the window to pay for gas now. People are bragging that their H2 now only takes sixty dollars to fill up! Some people are so pleased with the low gas prices that some try to give me extra money--in all honesty this is not the case and it is due to the fact that many people are evidently unable to count--out of the goodness of their heart. Days are good for the man in the box currently. Unfortunately the man in the box knows better than to allow these happy days to shield my eyes from the truth. Once winter turns into spring and then spring turns into summer as always fuel prices will shoot up and the man in the box will once again be turned into the horrible person who raises the gas prices for his own profit. And with the summer price hikes the box upgrades I have been waiting for will finally become a reality.

He needs to be let go

So I will tell you another story of one of my "box" co-workers. Yes this means I have continued to look inside the "box" and on doing so I've realized something. The people inside the "box" are equally as strange and amusing, as the people outside of the "box." My story begins with an elderly man, aged 68. I shall call him R in this story. Here is a little background on R, and how he came to work in the "box." The position that he held at work was cut due to the company going over budget. They decided that since his position was cut they would be nice and give him a job elsewhere in the company. The manager of the store decided for whatever reason that he would do well in the "box." Which in all honestly he was horribly wrong. Instead of the regular two days of training that everyone else receives who comes to work in the "box." R received a full week and a half of training. Due to the fact that he couldn't figure out how to operate the system. But, lets get back to what is important in this story and that is R's ability to be a tremendous creep. After him working with me I slowly realized that R was an extremely creepy individual. He said things that NO 68 year old man should ever say. He made comments about how sexy young girls were that came to pay for gas. After talking to other people I worked with I began to realize that it was not only I that R disturbed. For the most part R really freaked out the women who work in the "box." One of the female workers was so offended by R that while she was training him she got up and left due to something offensive that R had said to her. Now with this older gentleman disturbing all of your employees and offending many as well. You would think that R would have been let go by now. But, his madness does not end here. Finally he was able to grasp the system enough to be left alone to work a shift. Well during his shift one of the ladies from inside the store went out to give him a break. Upon entering the "box" she noticed there was a bucket sitting in the corner. She walked over to the bucket and looked inside to see what it was. At this point R got a little jumpy and shuffled over to grab the bucket. But by that time she had already seen what was inside. R had been urinating inside the "box" into a bucket. He had urinated multiple times through out his shift and upon the bucket being found tried to deny that he had done so. Unfortunately for him there are cameras inside the "box" which the manager checked and saw him using this bucket as his own person toilet. The extremely upsetting thing about him urinating into a bucket is the fact that the "box" is surrounded by other stores. Inside everyone of these stores there is restroom that is open to public use. Also the bucket that he was urinating into happened to be a bucket that everyone who works in the "box" uses. At this point you would assume that R has been let go? This is not the case. He continues to work in the "box" disturbing females and males alike.

Maybe I should look into the "Box"

So the man in the "box" has told you of the stupid things that people do outside of the "box." But, what about the people who are inside the "box." The people just like myself, that's right my co-workers. I realize that everyone out there has co-workers and we all have those co-workers who make our days just that much better. But, I ask you, do you think the people you work with are the same as people who work in a "box?" In some aspects people I work with will remind you of your co-workers, but just remember, these people work in a "box." So lets start off with the best of all the game. I shall call him D, he is a portly older gentleman who is near the age of becoming senile. So, here a a few stories that you may enjoy. So, one day when I came to work to start my shift, D was working before I. When I walk into the "box" there is the usual jibber jabber between co-workers, which you usually want to end as quickly as possible. But, this day D told me something that somewhat shocked and disturbed me at the same time. As I walked into the box I noticed that there was a very large bowl sitting on the shelf. Which, didn't really surprise me seeing that D always brought a smorgasborg of food to work. Then D begins to tell me how he had packed a LARGE salad for his lunch. At this point I was asking myself "why do I care what you packed for lunch, the very thought of you eating disturbs me greatly." D continued anyways with his extremly interesting story of his lunch. D tells me how he had packed this LARGE salad but the unfortunate part of his lunch was that he forgot to pack a fork to eat the LARGE salad with. At this point I figured that D would wait and eat his lunch at home. But, this was not the case. D tells me how he had to eat his LARGE salad with his hands. So just picture a portly old gentleman sitting in a "box" eatting a salad like some ravenous beast man. And ask yourself what you would do if you saw something like this taking place as you came to pay for gas. Later at work I had to laugh. I couldn't figure out why my chair was having such a hard time rolling around. I then looked down to see that D during his eating frenzy had spilled bacon bits all over the ground. Check back for more stories about people in and outside of the "box."