A Convenience Store Clerk: Robin Mason

Robin (they insisted on the full name. No diminutives) was mopping the men’s room. They preferred to use it to the ladies room. Somehow despite all logic women were total slobs in public restrooms. They brushed the red hair from their eyes and clicked their tongue studs against their teeth.

This is not what I had in mind when I planned to take a gap year. I thought I might see Europe. Or at least Canada.

The pay was decent though. The gas station/c-store chain took very good care of their employees between better than competitive wages and profit sharing. Sadly the location was by far the calmest of any in the area. The only excitement Robin had seen in the three months they’d been working here was an old drunk guy who had started stalking one of the girls who worked there. The cops had hauled him away in a squad about three minutes after he’d blown chunks all over the roller grill.

I’d give anything for an adventure.

As if in answer to this errant thought a burly guy with a neck beard and a fedora had barged into the men’s room with a wild look in his eyes. Robin only noticed the cloth in his hand when he forced it over their mouth, growling “Hey, does this smell like chloroform?”

Number eight. Time for orientation.