I mean, he tells me: “Three drive-offs and you’re history.” Noling. That’s what he says to me first day of work. Three. What am I supposed to do? I’m one lone woman out here. I’m two miles off the Interstate and a good ten to town. What does he expect? I see a car pull up. Four in the morning. Car looks cool to me. Indiana plates. Kinda clean. White guy and his family. Looks like his family anyhow. Woman and two babies. How am I supposed to know? Maybe he’s kidnapped the whole bunch. I go ahead and authorize the car on the speaker. I’m all alone. I’m trying to make my voice sound big. Like a guy or something. Deep. You know, like there’s more than just one of me. Like I’m backed up by a whole bad-ass gang of truckers in here. I’m watching from the cash counter. I can see the guy plain as day. He keeps staring straight at the pump, watching the numbers roll over. He never once looks back at me. Not once. No reason to be suspicious, right? His wife’s jiggling one of the kids on her knee; fooling with some stupid feather or something; tickling the kid in the face. Baby’s giggling. I can see that. I’ve got a clear view from here. I can see every pump on the place. He’s the only car out there. Guy even washes his damn windshield. Does a real careful job too; cleaning off the squeegee with a paper towel between strokes; making sure there’s no drip marks. Real careful like. Still never looks back at me. Not once. Now, you know, a drive-off ’s usually gonna give you some hint, some clue somewhere. A drive-off never cleans his damn windshield. He’s too busy thinking about escape. Too worried the whole time. Not this guy. He takes his sweet time. This guy finishes the windshield; wipes his headlights; goes around to the back; cleans off the taillights; dips the squeegee again; washes the rear window; dumps the squeegee back in the tub; climbs in the damn car and drives off. Just drives right the fuck off into the night. Never skipped a beat. Now, what am I supposed to do? Go running my fat butt out there, screaming and waving my arms around? Take a chance of getting shot at? How am I supposed to stop him? I’m not armed. I’m one lone woman out here. But Noling, he tells me, two more and I’m toast. That’s what he says. Company’s gonna take it outta my check. Then, next time, when I do ask a car for a prepay, credit card, cash security, or something, he tells me that’s not legal. State law or some shit. I can’t do that. What am I supposed to do? He says, Just don’t let it happen again. It’s my responsibility to watch out for the company’s interest. I mean like the other night for instance; these two come rolling in here real late with Kentucky plates. And they were some sorrylookin’ road meat, let me tell you. Beat-to-stew truck, all rusted out, fenders flapping, cow flop dripping off the mud flaps, gun rack; the whole nine yards. Flat scary. And these two come sloshing outta this truck and I’m tellin’ you, between the both of them they had to have tipped close to nine hundred, no lie. I mean I’m good at weights. I can eyeball weights within five pounds from watchin’ Daddy sort feeder calves. I’m real good at it. And these guys had to total every bit of nine hundred, believe you me. And here they come; raggedy beards, hair down to their asses, tattoos. No socks either. I could see that clear from here. That’s how good my eyes are. Real deep-woods animals, these two. Suspicion wrote all over ’em. Whole time they’re pumping gas their eyes are jumping all around. They stare at me; they stare at the road; they stare back at me. I was praying they would drive off so I wouldn’t have to face them. I mean, can you imagine? One lone woman, middle of nowhere, and these two come cruising in? One thing I do is scribble down their plate number so at least I’ll have that to show Noling when he gets all ashy with me next day. But I look up and they’re not driving off; they’re coming in! They’re heading right for the doors, straight toward me, the both of them. And now my heart is really going to town because if these two were scary at a distance, now they’re like a horror show. Big beefy arms swinging; spittin’ huge gobs of black shit and neither one of ’em’s talking. That’s what got me going. No talk. Not one peep out of either one of ’em the whole time. And I’m all alone, understand. Not a soul in the store. I mean I can usually handle it all right if I hear some talk between ’em or a chuckle or something but these two were stone silent. I just can’t stand that. I mean I’ve always got something on like the radio or TV or something so it breaks the air up; gets the loneliness out. Makes me feel like company. But silence drives me right up the tree. And so now, in they come and I’m thinking, “Oh shit, this is it,” but instead of coming toward me they head right for the candy aisle, real slow, swinging those big meaty arms of theirs. They’re so fat their arms hang straight out with daylight underneath ’em. Like the way you see a tom turkey get puffed up; that’s the way they’re moving. Real slow, up and down the candy aisle and the only sound is their key chains clinking on their hips. They have matching key chains all jammed up with them miniature wrenches and jackknives; church keys and these big black iron crosses like bikers wear. You know, them German jobs like Harley shit. All matching. And here they are cruising the candy, big as life. Both of ’em. Like a couple a dumb-ass bears lost out on the highway. They never once look over at me. They just stare at the candy. They pick up the M&M’s and look at the label, then toss the bags up and down like they’re checking the weight or something. I can’t figure it out. I mean when was the last time you checked out the contents on a bag of M&M’s? Both of ’em keep doing this. Not a word between ’em. They go to the PayDays and do the same thing: tossing them; checking the labels; smelling the wrappers. Then they go to the Tootsie Rolls; the Almond Joys; the Reese’s peanut butter cups. Up and down the aisle; back and forth. By the time they reach the end they’ve got their sausage arms loaded with candy bars. Both of ’em with exactly the same candy. I can see that from the cash counter. I’m watching real careful out the sides of my eyes, trying to keep track of what they’ve got; watching out for the company’s interest. And all the time I’m thinking they’re gonna rob the joint for sure. This candy thing is just a stall while they check the place out; the TV surveillance; the exits; alarms and shit. Any second now they’re gonna wig out and pull some monster gun on me. That’s what I’m thinking. But no. Now they go to the potato chip aisle and start piling on bags of Fritos, Cool Ranch chips, Ruffles, pretzels. I mean you can’t believe the stuff. And each of ’em keeps picking up the exact same thing as the other one; like they’re afraid one of ’em’s gonna get something the other one doesn’t have. Couple a big bearded babies. Then they turn around toward me. At the end of the aisle they stop and turn straight toward me and I’m thinking this is really it. Now I’ve really had it. They’ve got their goodies piled high as their noses. Just their little squinty black eyes peeping out over the top. And suddenly I see that they’re twins! Just by the eyes. You know how you can recognize something like that. Just by seeing something in the eyes. You just know they’re related. And now my heart is thumping so bad I’m afraid they’re gonna see my name tag jumping right off my tit! I’m just sure they’re gonna pull a gun on me now. They’re gonna walk right up to the counter; dump their piles of junk; pull a big .357 magnum and stick it right in my round mouth. I’m sure I’m gonna die. There’s no way out of it. I’m all alone here. What am I supposed to do? Call 911? Time the highway patrol gets out here I’ll be dead. And I’m shaking all over now. My armpits are dripping. My fingers have all gone cold and I start thinking about Mama. Out of the blue I’m thinking about her. I start to see her sitting on the sofa, watching Oprah; smoking reds; eating Cheeze Whiz and Ritz crackers; crying big tears over all the bad-luck people on the show. I don’t know what’s gonna happen; who’s gonna take care of her when I’m gone; who’s gonna tell her I’ve just got my brains blown out down at the Conoco. There’s nobody. I’m the only one left. I don’t know how it ever got like this.