Gas bar thieves

Slime is everywhere, most notably if one is an habituĂ© of the gas bar in a well-traveled area. I pity the poor tourist who fills his tank and wanders into the store to pay in cash. If he’s lucky, he’s rounded up to the nearest dollar, which makes counting his change that much easier.

More likely, he’s at a gas’n’go and has used his credit card at the pump, but must wander into the store for water, pop, gum, cigarettes, or a treat for his sweet tooth.

If the day is long, like mine are, then attention isn’t at its highest.

High enough, mind you, to let the teller know that I gave her a twenty.

“Oh, sorry,” she replies, sounding too practiced and too much in haste. An honest error more often gets a fumbled reply.

When the cashier is trying to take you, the cash goes right into the till before she gives change back.

If the cashier is smart, the bill is left laying on the till while she hands you your change. That way, you can’t screw the cashier by telling her that you gave her a larger bill. It evens things out.

Still holding out my open hand, I get my ten dollars added to the change in my palm. When I press the point by looking the cashier in the eye, she looks away, then turns around and pretends to do something else.

Nice try, sez I.

No response, but then, I didn’t expect one.

I waited for about 20 seconds before I turned and left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she then turned around.

I waved the ten at her as I was going out the door.

I really enjoyed cheating the thief out of her ten-spot.

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