The first customer of the night is a gorilla. Well, not an actual gorilla, a guy in a gorilla suit. I know because we’ve had an actual gorilla in here before, it bought an ice cream sandwich, three lighters, and a lotto ticket. It seemed friendly. I couldn’t understand what it was saying, though. I don’t speak German.
That’s how these nights go; they start off slow, dull. It’s not long before the customers get more varied, more interesting. That’s the fun part about the late night shift. The unfun part? Getting to work, let me tell you, it’s only a convenience store for the customers passing by.
The next patron is more what I expect at this hour. Tall, skeletal, cervine, cloaked in tattered cloth. I've seen him in here before. He buys his usual and heads off. I wonder if he eats the Lunchables raw or cooks them in a campfire? Maybe he somehow has a microwave in the woods? I like customers who raise questions. I like questions in general, I guess. After all, I always get told I ask too many.
I asked my friend Avery about why I get so many weirdos on my shift. They said it was because this stretch of road was some kind of dirt and asphalt Bermuda triangle. Something about the thirty-sixth parallel? Avery said I was lucky to get to see so much weird shit, but honestly you see enough of it and it doesn’t seem so weird anymore.
It’s only One a.m., I’m sweeping the floors before the usual 3 a.m. rush. I hear the door chime; It’s an older guy in a suit. Not a gorilla suit. Like, an ill-fitting lawyer suit. A normal human in a normal suit. Weird. He’s quiet, fine with me; I’d had enough chit chat with the mass of spiders in a trench coat that were in here earlier. He looks tired and dirty. Did he…did he walk here? He buys some gum, and when he pays, he also hands me an extra quarter says it’s for a drink from the vending machine, on him.
This next customer, an elf I think, maybe a fairi—, uh, one of the fair folk. They want one of the products we don’t sell during other shifts. This is always a pain; I don’t mean it’s an effort, I mean the way space…changes to accommodate the extra aisles literally hurts my eyes. I’ve gone over there a couple of times; I’m told not to sweep it, and it seems to stock itself, but it’s part of the store right? I figure I should know what we have in stock. Some of it seems pretty cool until you see the price tags. I don’t know what or care how effective ‘Ætheric Purifying Lotion’ is, it’s not worth six years of my life and ninety-nine cents.
I can see the red and blue lights a mile away. The officers come in and show me a picture of that guy who was in here earlier, I didn’t quite catch what he did, but it was terrible. I tell them I saw him about an hour before and that he just bought some mint gum.
I knew something was off about him, no one is normal. Not that guy, not Avery… Not me. Normal is such a meaningless word.
Speaking of meaningless words, there haven’t been any customers in a while, so I’m working on my essay. It’s not going well. They give you all these prompts and suggestions, but I feel like they haven’t updated them in a long time, they want me to write about a personal experience that no college applicant has had in a decade.
And what’s supposed to happen if whatever faceless admissions officer decides my essay fits their idea of what an essay should be, and by proxy, decide I’m the kind of student that fits their idea of what a student is supposed to be. Oh god, what if more than one school ends up deciding that? Am I supposed to pick?!
I’ve never really thought about what I would do if I have options. Why would I? It’s never really happened before. I remember one of my teachers going on about the Illusion of Choice, and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t really understand, but it made me think about how railroaded life can be.
I dunno, people say things will work out in the end. The end of what? The day, when the sun sets? Our lives, when our souls are laid to rest? The heat death of the universe, when all the souls of all the stars are laid to rest? So many things have already ended, and most of the time, I don’t feel like things are okay. Geez, I could use some rest.
It’s so dark out now. Dark enough that the light from the sign is smothered and outside is just a void. Like the only things in existence are me, this store and a bunch of off-brand food. Haven’t seen any cars go by for some time. It gives me time to think. I do want to go to college, but not just to do it, y’know? I want to learn, not just have a degree because some statistic says people with degrees make something-percent more money.
I should ask Avery if there's any schools for…well I guess that’s going to be hard if I don’t figure out what to call it, but even if I did, would I get into such a school? I guess this job might look good on an application. Probably the only place “Late Night Cashier at a Roadside Convenience Store” looks good…besides an application for late-night manager? Ugh, don’t want that job. I’ve seen my manager; it looks miserable. I think.
Another customer. I didn’t even see them come in. She looks like a reflection in a cracked mirror and, yep, the text on her sweater is backward. It’s not mine, that would be too simple, too on the nose. I recognize her though. She looks at the fridge where we keep the energy drinks and grabs an arm full.
“Midterms.” she explains as she approaches the counter.
“Ugh.” I say as I start scanning the dozen different drinks. “where you going these days?”
“Dærwood University, it’s just along the road, somewhere.”
“This road?” I ask.
“I guess so, yeah.”
“Uh huh.”
She looks over at my notepad as she takes the drinks and dumps them in a messenger bag. “if you’re looking at schools you should check it out, they don’t take the common app though.” She gestures at my tenth of an essay.
“The students there,” I try to ask “they’re all…”
“The kind of people you see in here? Yeah. You’d fit right in.”
Would I?
I smile at her, and she smiles back. I think. Too many cracks.
Well, there’s one thought. I’ll have to look into that once I get off work. It makes me feel better to have even a tiny lead instead of fumbling in the dark.
But there’s still three more hours in my shift.