Guilty Pleasures

                                                          Guilty Pleasures

Some have the luxury of saying ‘no day’s the same’ regarding their job. I don’t. I work as a sales assistant at my local petrol station and most days are the same. I stand at the desk. Re-stock the same snacks on the shelves. I see familiar faces, some of which I know by name. Kirsty always comes in and gets a grab bag of Quavers with a small bottle of Tropicana orange juice. Ronald comes in and always asks how my day is going and indulges me in a chat about what he’s read in the newspaper that day.

          Today, I’m stacking packs of Bourbons on the shelf, when this guy walks in. He’s been coming here regularly for the past two weeks. He comes in and gets a £3 meal deal. He’s good-looking. Tall, with dark blond hair, deep-set dark blue eyes, neat facial hair and a toned torso. He smiles at me and scans the shelves for a ham sandwich, Dairylea dunkers, and a pouch of Capri-sun. He’s been getting this consecutively for the last fortnight. He pauses before grabbing a pack of strawberry Fruit Winders. He approaches the counter.

‘The Fruit Winders aren’t part of the meal deal, since you’ve already got those.’ I tell him, pointing at the dunkers.

             ‘Yeah, that’s fine.’

 ‘That’s a nice lunch you got there. I’m guessing it’s for the kids?’

‘Yeah. My daughter. She loves them.’

‘I bet! I did too when I was young.’

         He smiles and pays for the petrol and lunch, before leaving and driving away in his silver Volvo. An hour later, I finish my shift and head over to the car park.  I wade through, trying not to get run over, when I spot a silver Volvo. I think nothing of it, until I see the blond guy from earlier sipping his Capri sun and in his other hand, held his Fruit Winder covered in the cheese from the dairylea dunker. He looks away guiltily. 

     I never saw him again after that.