Convenience Store Uprising

It was a morning just like any other at the Pretty Flippin’ Fast convenience store. People stumbled in groggy to purchase coffee, Mountain Dew or Twinkies for their morning commute. No one spoke or looked each other in the eye and the man behind the counter completed each transaction with as few words as possible. But there was something different in the air this time, something looming over the heads of everyone in the cramped building. It had a smell to it, like sulphur. It was the smell of revolution.

It was sparked by someone who didn’t prepay at the pump. The clerk leaned into his thin, silver mic and announced, “You have to pre-pay sir…. You have to pre-pay… Sir… Sir…” But the old man at the pump continued to push the button for unleaded repeatedly until he began pounding on the keypad with his large hand. “Sir, please stop punching that. Sir… Sir… Oh for fucks sake.” He muttered to himself before finally turning on the pump so the man could get his gas. That was his first mistake, he showed weakness to the others. The people in line shifted their weight from one leg to the other, their patience growing short. Finally the old man came in, and the clerk berated him for not pre-paying.
“What the hell is this?” The man yelled. “I pay my taxes! I don’t have to put up with this abuse. Don’t you understand that I have rights as a consumer?”
“I know sir, but..”
“I’m sick and tired of being treated like a second class citizen by the companies that I give my money to!” He interrupted. The others groaned, the line that had begun to grow to the point where it snaked through the cramped isles of windshield wipers, snickers bars and Folders Coffee packets. This show was holding them back from their morning routine, but still something stirred from deep within them.


“I have the right to refuse to give you my money!” He bleated. The others perked up. Each suddenly creating their own check list of annoyances they’ve experienced themselves. Being charged twice for a Butterfinger, not having their brand of cigarette in stock and waiting for the clerk to come out of the bathroom. Fists were beginning to clench.
“Sir, if you don’t pay I’ll be forced to call the cops.” Their annoyance began to turn into anger at those words. Another hold up from getting back on the road.
“I’ve done nothing wrong! I’m just here to get gas! I served in the war! I’ve done my part for my country, and I demand respect!” All eyes slid back to the clerk who hesitated before turning bitterly toward the phone.
“This is a rail road! I am not a criminal! I’m here to offer you my money, and you’re treating me like criminal!” The old man bellowed. The others began to group around the counter, shrugging off the rule of staying in line. “Yeah!” One of them shouted, “Yesterday I was four cents short to pay for my box of Triscuts, and you wouldn’t let me have it! It’s not my fault you didn’t have any change in the penny dish!”
“I had to wait for ever while you changed the roll on the receipt printer!” Another chimed in.
“You wouldn’t let me use your bathroom because you said it was for employees only!”
“Your ATM is busted!” Another man screamed, flailing his useless bank card over his head.
“Hitler!” The old man yelled as he pointed at the clerk.
“Lets get him!” A well dressed business woman shrieked. The crowd pushed in and pulled the clerk out from behind the bullet proof glass. They raised him over their heads while chanting “Revolution!” Someone opened up the refrigerator door and pulled out all the lite beer and sodas, and the mob threw the clerk in. Then the looting began. Twinkies were hastily snatched up and stuffed into pockets, Little Debbi Snack Cakes were greedily eaten and lottery tickets were pulled from the spindle.

“People! People! This store is ours now. Everything will he handed out equally! There is no need for panic!” The old man yelled while standing on the counter. Everyone stopped to look at their new leader, the man who guided them through the waters of corruption and into freedom. “Lead us El Guapo!” The business woman sang from deep within the crowd. And as he began to tell them his well thought out plan on how their new society would live, a plan he had been developing while tinkering with model cars in his basement to avoid his wife, there was an explosion. One of the rebels had lit a gas pump on fire. The shock wave blew out all the store front windows. The whole west side of the little square building was covered in flaming gas. The old man ushered everyone out so that they filled service road which lead up to the Pretty Flippin’ Fast store. They all watched speechlessly as it crumbled before them.

Soon there were wales of despair emanating from the group. A baby could be heard crying among the din, and someone in a torn shirt picked up the remains of melted window scraper before falling to their knees weeping. The business woman walked up to the old man who looked at the blaze stoically. “What do we do now great leader?” She put one hand on his broad shoulder. He turned to her with deep compassion in his eyes, then grabbed her by her waist and dramatically pulled her in toward him. They looked into each others eyes, which glistened in the fire light before replying, “We rebuild.” Then he kissed her hard, and deeply.