He had been aiming it just in my general direction before, but now he’s pointing it right up at my face and I’m looking down the barrel of what was a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver and that barrel looked big enough for a train to come out of and I could see the rounds in the chambers of the cylinder and I just say to the guy “I can’t make it go any faster” and I pick this heavy damn thing up and say “I’ll carry it out for you, just don’t shoot me” when thankfully the damn thing finally opened. So I give him the money and ask him if he wants smokes or anything else and he just turns and runs out.
I’m assuming you mean as a person who is there to get gas but I’m going to tell of an experience I had as a person who worked at a gas station. It was 1988 and I was 18 years old and working at a Race Track Store in Mesquite, Tx. This is no ordinary gas station. We are talking full-on convenience store with all the amenities including a deli and even a video store in those days. So it’s one of those large 20+ gas pump beasts that you find all over Texas and I’m working the overnight shift with this chick we’ll call Sherry to protect the innocent…lol! Not really, that was her name…lol! Anyway, this one night (03:00ish) Sherry and I are behind the counter which was slightly raised in the back where we stood so that we could reach the top of the massive cigarette racks that ran from the ceiling and across the width of the register area.