The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Thursday, November 16, 2000

The Quiet Zone

I'm sitting here at work, things are quiet and nothing is really happening. I'm watching the security guard, who sits in our office at night because of the video recording equipment is here and his head is doing that sleep bobbing thing. In fact, I think he's asleep right now.

It's very quiet in here, except for the clacking of my IBM PS/2 keyboard (which I brought in specifically for use on the machine here at work. Accept not substitutes).

Scenes from a Gas Station Deli at 3:30 am

“My God it takes forever to get a sub in the place,” she said. Thick soled sandals, ends that justified the blue jeans and a white form fitting tank top. Facial structure similar to Juliette Lewis only cuter and with brown wavy hair. She turned around and faced me. “Hey, you finish work or something?”

I looked up from the magazine I was browsing through waiting in line. “Actually,” I said, “I'm on my lunch break.”

“What?” said Cute Girl.

“Yea, lunch break. It's what? 2:30 am? 3:30 am?”

“Wow.” She seemed so impressed that I was working such wierd hours.

“Yea, I work midnight to—” But not enough to actually listen to me.

Scenes from a Gas Station Deli at 3:31 am

Cute Girl was still fighting for her subs to be made, I was still standing in line browsing a magazine when a girl, maybe mid 20s walks up, carrying a case of beer. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you in line?”

I look up. “Yes.” I now notice that her dress is a thin nearly translucent material and that she isn't wearing much else. Somewhat cute.

“Excuse me,” she said. This time to the guy behind the counter. “Excuse me?” He finally clues in that someone else is calling for his attention and stares at her. “Where is the wine?” He just stands there in incomprehension. “Wine!”

This time Cute Girl interceeds. “Wine!” she said, louder so that he could understand English better. He finally clues in, and points to a set of coolers on the other side of the store.

It's by this time I realize this newcomer is rather tipsy, because I had been standing in front of a rack of wine all this time.

Scenes from a Gas Station Deli between 3:35 am to 3:45 am

The deli clerk behind the counter is working on Cute Girl's subs when he wanders off for about ten minutes. I presume to handle the alcohol purchases of Tipsy Girl. He eventually makes his way back and starts on another sub.

“Uh, excuse me,” said Cute Girl. “I'm not done with that sub yet.” She points behind the counter to another sub. The guy doesn't seem to understand. “I'd like some banana peppers on that sub.” He stands there. “I'm not done with that sub. Banana peppers. That sub!” He finally clues in.

Scenes from a Gas Station Deli at 3:50 am or Another hamless ham and cheese without the cheese

“Yes, I'd like a big ham and cheese please,” I said to the deli clerk.

“What type of meat?” he asked me.


Scenes from a Gas Station Deli at 4:00 am

Another clerk had worked his way out from the back of the store and was handling the register to help Cute Girl with her sub purchases. She was still at the register when my sub was finished so I stood in line behind her. The clerk looked perplexed over what the register was telling him, then took Cute Girl's credit card to another machine. This one had multiple levers on it, apparently to set the price of the transaction, and he took out a carboned credit form. He puzzled over the intracate workings of a credit card machine from the 70s and after ten minutes decided that it too, must be down. He then turned towards Cute Girl. “The computers, they are down.”

“It didn't accept my card?” she asked.

“The machines, they are down.”

“You know,” she said, digging through her purse for money, ”I could have gone to the ATM and be back in the time that took.” He spent another five minutes writing her order down on the back of an envelope and ringing up the price on a calculator.

Scenes from a Gas Station Deli at 4:05 am

On the way out, I ran into JB from The Company making a food run. “Hey Sean,” he said. “If you had but asked, I would have gladly taken your order for food.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But alas, I was hungry and I needed sustenance.”

“Then will you join me in my quest for food for our fellow cow-orkers?”

“I have been here already half an hour and I fear that your quest shall take a fair amount of time of which I do not wish to partake in.”

“Please, just a few minutes,” JB said. His tone was such that I relented.

We bantered for the few moments it took us to walk to the deli counter. “Please, sir, I would like to order four subs,” JB said to the deli clerk.

“Sir, four subs please.” The deli clerk made some motion with his head. “Do you not do the subs?”

The deli clerk perked up. “Yes,” he said.

“Then four subs.”

“I shall see you back in the comfort of The Company offices,” I said to JB, not willing to endure any more of this deli tonight.

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