Valero

I don’t normally review gas stations but after the Asst Manager Terry decided to call me a thief and tell me I was going to hell for making sure my Sunday paper had all the ads in it… I used to shop daily (gas, bread, milk and at least 2 papers weekly) She had always been nasty and lazy ie standing there while the cashier had a line 10 deep. The worst part is nothing is being done outside of offering us free stuff. I don’t want free stuff, I want someone to answer for being a rude, offensive employee. Ty btw for that– I had spent all night in the hospital with family and needed to be treated like that. I personally will be telling my entire complex and every social media I can think of to shop elsewhere.

I gave this place another chance. I’ve started going in the morning and it’s like night and day. Their less than desirable employees don’t seem to work then, and everyone who does is beyond pleasant to be around. They also seem to be changing up their selection of things. I never thought I’d review the same gas station twice (or once really) yet here I am.

Leonardo di Caprio may have been King of the World, but last week I proudly became the Duke of Valero. Which is kind of the same thing, except my title is infinitely more pathetic. Somehow, that doesn’t stop me from leaning over the edge of a balcony and screaming out «I’m the Duke of Valerrrrrrooooooo!», much to the embarrassment of anyone around me.
This place is rarely packed, and the prices are comparable to the HEB a little further away. Perhaps they are a bit higher, but it’s closer.
The clerks are usually friendly. My favorite is the older lady who has no problem launching into full-​on conversations with you every single time she sees you. She’s very sweet, but sometimes I wish she’d just check me out, especially when there’s a line of harried, angry people behind me. Employee turnover is high, but thankfully, the service remains generally consistent.
When MegaMillions gets over $ 100 million, this is the convenience store I want awarded a cut of my winnings. Mostly for sentimental reasons, since this has been my neighborhood gas station for 15 years. When MegaMillions surpasses some ridiculous figure like $ 200 million, the scene inside is quite amusing. People like me who never play the lotto (I’ve sometimes called it the «idiot tax») line up in droves. There’s almost an electricity in the air, with everyone chatting about «what they would do» if they won. The older lady seems to thrive on these Tuesdays and Fridays when everyone is abuzz about the lottery, and it seems like the most fun one can have working at the Valero. And it depresses me.
I also stop in here to wipe bird shit off Kar if he’s in between car washes, Yes, I take a squeegee and try and wash off the crap whether it’s on a window or not. And it usually looks smeared and awful, and I end up taking it to be washed anyway. One day on the way downtown, I was all dressed to the nines in Gucci, but Kar had fallen victim to a particularly diarrheatic flock of asshole birds, and right before I had to leave for a party, too. I was *praying* no one would be around to witness me taking a squeegee to my car that day. And as luck would have it, no one was around. Relieved, I set to work, looking fabulous while performing an extremely un-​fabulous task. And then he rolled up. One of those handsome, corn-​fed cowboys driving a big pickup truck. Already privately mortified, it didn’t help that he stared at me – non-​stop – as he pumped his gas. He just stood there, staring straight at me with a mixture of confusion and disdain. I almost asked him if he wanted to chew on a wheat stalk to complete the picture. Finally, I threw in the towel (or squeegee) and began to leave. As I drove away, and his eyes followed me, I couldn’t help but throw up my hands and mouth «What!!!» You’ve never seen a gay man in Italian sportswear try in vain to get crap off his car?
I don’t think you could get me to try one those pre-​wrapped sandwiches they sell, even with a gun to my head. I may try an «Angus beef» hot dog out of curiosity. I’ve never had food from a gas station, but that sounds more my speed. As long as Angus beef means true «Angus beef» and not «Angus spare body parts».
In more troubling news, Brian has recently threatened to take away my Dukedom of Valero. He announced this intention even after he refused my generous offer of allowing him to become the Duke of Spring Food Mart down the road, to avoid any destructive conflict. He said he didn’t want the red-​headed stepchild of gas stations; the Valero, he maintains, would soon be his.
Begun, the Gas Station Wars have.