Boob Money

Standard

When I work at the fuel center, I spend most of my time in a booth where the customers can’t touch me. The booth has windows on three sides; the windows are allegedly bulletproof. (I don’t need to see evidence of this with my own eyes, thank you.) Conversing is done through an intercom. Money, credit cards, and tobacco products are passed through a sliding drawer in the wall. The company I work for calls the booth “the kiosk.”

One afternoon I was outside the kiosk conditioning. Conditioning just means making sure the product displays look good. I pull items to the front of the display cases, turn items so the fronts are facing forward, and fill any empty slots. It’s an easy task, improves the look of the sales area, and gets me out of the kiosk. While I’m outside, I also look around for trash on the ground, empty paper towel dispensers, and problems with the pumps.

While I’m outside conditioning, I keep an eye out for customers who have approached the kiosk. When someone walks up to the kiosk, I have to stop what I’m doing, walk to the kiosk, unlock the door, go inside, make sure the door closes behind me, approach the window, and use the intercom to find out how I can help the customer. It would be a lot easier if I could do my outside work without customer interruption, but that’s never the way it works.

On the day in question, I glanced over to the kiosk and saw that a customer had approached the kiosk. This customer was very tall and hyper-feminine. At first I thought she was a drag queen. Maybe she was.

(While I’m not sure of this person’s biological sex—and it doesn’t matter to me anyway—I will use feminine pronouns because this person was definitely presenting in a way that our society reads as female.)

The customer was wearing high heels, jeggings printed to look like red snakeskin, and a pink bustier. Her long, thick, dark hair cascaded down her bare back. I wondered where this person was going dressed this way on a weekday afternoon. It didn’t much matter because her fashion choices were none of my business.

I returned to my kiosk sanctuary and approached my base of operations at the window where the drawer is. I used the intercom to say, Hi! How can I help you today?  

Rolled 20 U.s Dollar Bill

She said she needed $20 on pump 6. She had a few crumpled bills in her hand, but after looking at them she seemed to realize they wouldn’t be enough. That’s when she started digging in her cleavage. I don’t mean she reached daintily between her breasts and gently extracted a bill. No, she was rooting around in there, digging under her left breast, having a hard time finding what she needed. I honestly thought she might pop her boob out completely. Thankfully she did not.

She finally found the twenty dollar bill she wanted and put it in the drawer. I wasn’t disgusted so much as astounded. I had no real reason to be disgusted. Her boobs were probably cleaner than mine. Hers were probably lotioned, perfumed, and powdered. However, I have to admit I felt a little weird about touching money that had been stashed in such an intimate place.

I’m not saying I’ve never carried money in my bra. Ladies’ dressy clothes often lack pockets and a gal doesn’t always want to carry a purse.

The difference is that when I’ve carried money in my bra, I discretely removed the cash before I was ready to pay. I can attest to the fact that store clerks DO NOT want to know where your money has been. My customer could have counter her money in the car and when she realized she didn’t have enough for $20 on pump six, she could have gotten out her boob money before she approached the kiosk. I didn’t really need—or want—to see her pull her money out from under her breast. 

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/rolled-20-u-s-dollar-bill-164527/.

About Blaize Sun

My name is Blaize Sun. Maybe that's the name my family gave me; maybe it's not. In any case, that's the name I'm using here and now. I've been a rubber tramp for nearly a decade.I like to see places I've never seen before, and I like to visit the places I love again and again. For most of my years on the road, my primary residence was my van. For almost half of the time I was a van dweller, I was going it alone. Now my (male) partner and I (a woman) have a travel trailer we can pull with our truck. We have a little piece of property, and when we're not traveling, we park our little camper there. I was a work camper in a remote National Forest recreation area on a mountain for four seasons. I was a camp host and parking lot attendant for two seasons and wrote a book about my experiences called Confessions of a Work Camper: Tales from the Woods. During the last two seasons as a work camper on that mountain, I was a clerk in a campground store. I'm also a house and pet sitter, and I pick up odd jobs when I can. I'm primarily a writer, but I also create beautiful little collages; hand make hemp jewelry and warm, colorful winter hats; and use my creative and artistic skills to decorate my life and brighten the lives of others. My goal (for my writing and my life) is to be real. I don't like fake, and I don't want to share fake. I want to share my authentic thoughts and feelings. I want to give others space and permission to share their authentic selves. Sometimes I think the best way to support others is to leave them alone and allow them to be. I am more than just a rubber tramp artist. I'm fat. I'm funny. I'm flawed. I try to be kind. I'm often grouchy. I am awed by the stars in the dark desert night. I hope my writing moves people. If my writing makes someone laugh or cry or feel angry or happy or troubled or comforted, I have done my job. If my writing makes someone think and question and try a little harder, I've done my job. If my writing opens a door for someone, changes a life, I have done my job well. I hope you enjoy my blog posts, my word and pictures, the work I've done to express myself in a way others will understand. I hope you appreciate the time and energy I put into each post. I hope you will click the like button each time you like what you have read. I hope you will share posts with the people in your life. I hope you'll leave a comment and share your authentic self with me and this blog's other readers. Thank you for reading.  A writer without readers is very sad indeed.

7 Responses »

  1. Bwahahaha. Thanks for the morning laugh. It was just at a time when I needed it. You haven’t said where you will be going next or what your next job will be. I’ve been following along several years and although we’ve been in the same place several times I still haven’t said hello. Maybe this winter.

    Have a great day and keep the posts coming.

    • I would love to say hello, Camilla, whenever you are ready.

      I don’t have a real job right now. I’m selling jewelry and shiny rocks. I may get hired for seasonal shipping work over the holiday season. We’ll see.

  2. Pingback: Fuel Station Etiquette | Rubber Tramp Artist

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