Jersey

That gas station in Jersey
Where the entire state seems to fill up
All depending on one guy
To play mind-reader for the forgetful masses

What kind of gas, boss?
Cash or Credit, ma’am?
Open the tank, sir.
Brilliant doctors and lawyers in their benz’s
Soccer mom’s in their SUV’s
They all have one thing in common – gas pump amnesia.

and this guy- the gas station attendant, putting up with the mass amnesia, with a smile on his face, and a Bluetooth in his ear, carrying himself like he owns the place. Even with the woman who just slips the credit card through the barely open window. “Ma’am you still need to open the gas tank”

Who is he listening to on that thing in his ear?. I want to be there now. Eavesdropping on the ridiculousness of humanity, remembering how we all foolishly the same. Me in my Camry, You in the your beamer, Gas pump amnesia that lets us look past. The pink bicycle parked beside the attendant booth.

Twelve hours later, hundreds of cars in and out. thousand of dollars and gallons of gas exchanged, noise enough to deafen helicopter pilots, the attendant’s smile doesn’t slip. as he feels the tips in his pocket, and grabs the pink bicycle, riding it home in the rain, thankful for this recycled find, that takes him home, with the Bluetooth in his ear, and a voice to ease his sleep. Until the next day to do it all over again in Jersey!