Working at a gas station [Bryan]

In May 2005, I graduated from the University of Illinois with a PhD in education and philosophy. I had been lucky on the job market and had found a tenure-track job relatively quickly. One problem: Since I had officially graduated, all of my student funding was over and my future job would not begin until October -- five months away! I began to look for a short-term job to feed the family.

The list of options for such work is short, especially if you just have one car and thus need to work close to your home. Employers were often confused when I applied. I still remember the look on a lady's face when I tried to explain why a thirty-year-old PhD would want to work at a local cookie shop -- apparently all her other applicants where sixteen year old girls. So, where did I end up getting a job? At a nearby gas station: the Circle K on Mattis Avenue in Champaign. I got paid $6. 70 cents an hour, which was actually above Illinois minimum wage.

I've had several real jobs in my life, but working at a gas station was a new world for me. I was standing at the counter my first week and a lady came in, looked at me suspiciously as a new person, and demanded: "Parliament menthol light 100s." I guessed (correctly) that she were talking about a cigarette brand and looked up at the hundreds of different cigarettes stored above my head. It took me a few minutes to find what she was looking for -- as a good Mormon boy, cigarettes are as foreign to me as any exotic food. Meanwhile, my cash register was beeping furiously indicating that people wanted authorization to buy gas and a man was impatiently standing by the lotto machine wanting to buy lottery tickets. I found that I had no idea how to work the cash register and people were complaining that the soda fountain was broken while others were demanding refunds for the broken tire pump outside.

It was a rude awakening to the world of low-wage retail work.

Here's the worst part: If somebody drove off without paying for gas, I got blamed for it. This usually happened two or three times a week. Although they never actually did it, the bosses often threatened to take the money for the stolen gas directly out of our paychecks (which would have effectively cut my weekly paycheck of $200 a week in half). How did they justify this? The deal was that we were supposed to "authorize" all vehicles who were paying for gas without a credit card outside. That is, we were supposed to memorize the make, model, and license plate number of all vehicles pumping up who had yet to pay. If a vehicle then took off without paying, we were supposed to call the police and make the report. Only an official police report could save you from responsibility. Although they never excised their "right" to fine me, they did use effective guilt trips. I remember desperately sprinting after a red van half way down Mattis Avenue hoping to get its license plate number.

While people were busy stealing gas outside, the surveillance on the employees was extraordinary. There were at least 3 cameras posted around the counter. One was positioned right above the cash register so they could monitor every transaction. The place exuded a lack of trust in its employees. Employees were the enemies and watched over liked potential criminals.

While I was there I got robbed, I broke up a racial confrontation, and tripped the alarm causing the police to be called.

What did I learn from all this? First, I learned that almost any job has its satisfaction. As bad as it was, it still felt good when my register balanced or when the store looked good at night when I was locking up. Second, I learned that the jobs that look easy can sometimes be very difficult. A modern gas station cash register is really a thing to behold -- it is a complex tool with dozens of different primary and secondary functions. Third, I learned that it would be impossible to support a family working at the job like that. I made under $1000 a month, working almost full time.

Next time you are is a gas station, be nice to the poor schmuck behind the counter. He could be a desperate PhD.