More Gas Please Act 01

Just 30 minutes more. What a long day...

Being a cashier at a small gas station on the outskirts of a small village, you have to be able to handle boredom. And heat, at least during the summer.

You have to imagine, next to the cash register n°1 is the giant windowpane facing north, the midsummer sun constantly letting his warm beams of light rain down on poor old me.

You're also subjected to all kinds of people. My favorite ones are the quick and quiet ones. No fuss, which pump, a packet of cigarettes, that will be this much, goodbye. Over in 2min tops.

And then there are the truckers.

Don't get me wrong, truck drivers virtually always fall under the category of nice people. Very much so.

I'm just not a very social person, and truckers come from all over Europe, with their big stories about how pretty the Estonian girls are, how easily you can get lost in the gigantic forests of Finland, how hypnotic the beautiful glistening of the waves of the Adri... bla bla bla... I just can't. I zone out, nod and smile, hoping for story time to be over.

I involuntarily sigh every time I feel the warmth of the sun being blocked by one of those gigantic metallic monstrosities passing by the window.

I actually feel bad for thinking like this. They are only trying to get some small talk and human interactiom after driving nonstop for hours on end, probably bored out of their mind. But I simply don't know what to say, and that just makes me feel uncomfortable, hoping for the conversation to end quickly and release the tension I feel...

Am I a bad person...?

*sigh*... Speaking of the devil. Of course, 25 minutes before closure. Quick glance, the plate says... PT, so from Portugal. Great, so we will talk about the beautiful sailing ships stationed in Porto or the old tram of Lisbon. I bet 5 bucks it's gonna be the tram.

The door opens, and I'd say... mister truck driver looks like he's in his early 30s. Tall, short wavy black hair, one or two day old stubble beard surrounding his chiseled chin, a dark, almost chocolatey skintone, the near-mandatory red and black plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. At least he's good looking. He seems to have a tattoo of some sorts on his left upper arm, but I can't...

"M'Dia" Wow, talk about a deep, rumbly voice.

"Pump number two".

I'm a bit surprised to be honest. I would have bet he'd be more talkative. And courteous. No smile, no please, nothing.

But... I'd really like to see his smile.

"Ah sure, wait... That'll be... 143 Euros and 47 Cents."

He puts his surprisingly slender fingers in his breast pocket and pulls a card out of it and just waves it in front of me. Still not another word. Huh.

"I... ahm, the card reader doesn't work."

Did I really just say that? Of course it works, it worked the entire day... what am I doing?

"But the screen is on?" There's that rumble again, waving vaguely in direction of the register's display. His brown-eyed gaze feels just as hot on my face as the sunlight did the entire day.

I. Am. Blushing. Hard. And I feel sweaty. Nervous. Awkward. And most of all ashamed.

Why would I do this to myself? I just wanted for him to speak a bit more...

"I'm really sorry sir, the screen is... frozen." What is wrong with me???

"BUT! But... there is an ATM just around the corner!" Nice, at least that's not a lie...

"I'll... I'll come with you, sir! To show you around." What???

He looks just as confused as me. No, wait... is he amused? The left corner of his lips is curling slightly up, his thick eyebrows frowning down a tiny little bit. Yes! That near-smile feels like a win!

"O...kay" Somehow the rumble got to my stomach this time.

That's good, I'm feeling less ashamed, but my face still feels like it's on fire.

Let's close the shop. There's not a soul for miles around and the ATM is indeed just around the corner, but I can't afford to run any risks just because I wanted some random guy to smile at me.

Wow, despite it being 6pm, the sun still really gives all it's got. I'm really sweaty now.

"So you're from Portugal?" My glance at his truck right now should give him the impression that I didn't already pseudo-stalk him.

"Born and raised in beautiful Lisboa, yes. Did you know that the oldest tram in Lisboa was imported from the US in 1901?"

Of course... I should have bet 10 bucks.

"No, I had no idea!" That's a lie too.

And there's the ATM. So what now? He's... scribbling something? No, he's picking up money. He's turning around. Maybe... nope, still no smile.

"Here." I swear, that voice just resonates inside my entire body.

So he's gonna pay here? No, that's a handkerchief... "You don't feel very well, right? Too hot? Keep it, please."

"I... thank you sir!" That was unexpected. And I'm blushing again. Dammit, I wanted him to smile, not me smiling at him.

"Not sir, Tiago." There it is, his smile!!! I was so right: his lips part very slightly, revealing a set of straight white teeth, radiating a warm feeling that courses through my entire body.

"Well then thank you Tiago." I don't want to go back in. I'd like to stay a bit longer here, under the sun, staring at that man who I normally would not even have tried to listen to.

But we have to. He needs to continue driving, I need to close shop, I know. Let's get this over with, get back behind the counter, take the money and say goodbye.

At least the air conditioning makes it a bit more bearable in here. Wait, why is he looking at the card reader?

"Hey, the time, it is correct." What? The date and time on the display of the card reader? What about... oh.

"Oh... right. Must have fixed itself, I guess?" At least I can't blush more than I already did.

"Of course" he says, laughing. I laugh too. God I'm stupid. And wet. Wow, yeah, I realise I'm wet.

"Here, keep the change." 170 Euros. Really? And whats that piece of paper under the bills...

"I'll stay five more days in a hotel here. If you want, you can call me there." His finger points to the money bills. "We can drink together or something, miss...?"

Can I please stop smiling like an idiot? "Oh right, Linda, sorry! And I'd love to, sir! I mean Tiago, sorry. It would be my pleasure." I can't embarrass myself anymore at this point, I don't care.

Oh hell yes. I won't let it just be drinks I'm having.

And with a last handwave and a smile, he's gone.

I'll call. When should I call? Later this evening. Yes. He's not around for long, I have to be quick. Also, I didn't give him my number, he gave me his!

Yes. I'll call him later. But I think I'll first need to go home and use my showerhead for a while, thinking of the rumbly voice and those parting lips.