March 31st, 11:45 PM
You may have already heard about the shitty gas station at the edge of town. It’s garnered quite a bit of infamy over the past few years. But if you haven’t yet been introduced, allow me to summarize:
Weird things tend to happen there. Some of it can be explained away--natural weather phenomena; fumes from the local chemical plant playing tricks on the mind; bored townies burdened with too much time, alcohol, and drugs... Some other things, though, simply defy explanation.
Perhaps the frequency of incidents has something to do with the fact that the business is always open. Barring a few incidents where the building needed to close its doors for foundational repairs after the odd earthquake, sinkhole, or shootout, the business is otherwise operating twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and every day of the year. That’s including holidays. Yes, even the minor ones. Even though, as one employee continuously argues, it sure would be nice to take a day off once every April first. There’s enough shenanigans to worry about without a whole day dedicated to the manufacturing of new ones.
Not that it was ever expected to be effective, but there is a sign taped to the wall behind the cash register that very clearly states, “No pranks allowed.” It goes up every March 31st, and stays up usually until someone removes it, steals it, or (in one case) sets it on fire.
If you couldn’t already guess, April fool’s day is my least favorite holiday. If I didn’t have a job to do, I’d be far away from people, drowning my post-traumatic stress with something strong enough to kill the memories for at least another year… But duty calls, so here I am, sitting behind the cash register at the gas station and waiting to see what nonsense today has in store.
At least I’ve got this journal to keep me occupied.