The Human Torch

At one point in my long string of terrible fucking jobs, I worked overnights at a gas station/convenience store. I actually rather enjoyed that job. I worked alone. Not too awful many customers; not that much work to do. Lots of getting paid to sit on my ass and read a book. And free soda, so that was cool.

One night, this man came into the store. He looked dirty and spoke and moved as though he was...let's say chemically altered (i.e. stoned off his ass). He drumbles up (oh, yes. We're busting out the Shakespeare words) and slurs at me: "D'y'all sell butane?"

Oh boy. Yeah, dude, you should totally have something that flammable. "No."

"K."

He wanders back outside, gets to his car, then turns around and ambles back in. "D'y'all sell butane?"

Even if we did, I sure as Hell wouldn't sell it to you. "Nope. Sorry."

"K."

He wanders back out to his car, and this time gets in it. He drives away and starts off down the road, going about five miles an hour. I rejoice and return to work. About twenty minutes, I see a familiar black Jaguar pulling into the parking, moving at about five miles an hour. I stop what I'm doing and watch out the window.

Dude parks in front of one of the pumps. He turns on his dome light and I see him take a smallish plastic bottle off the seat next to him. I grab the phone and have my hand hovering over the emergency shut-off button, afraid I know exactly what's about to happen. Sure enough, he begins filling a Zippo style lighter while sitting in his car, which, again folks, is parked at a damn gas pump. I watch as he carefully pours butane into a lighter. Then stops being careful. I watch him shake his hand. I dial 911 just in time to watch him light the lighter, resulting in his butane covered hand bursting into flames. Fortuately, it burned quickly and went out. I still phoned the police. And then the dumb fucker lit his lighter a second time. He didn't catch himself on fire this time, but a fireball did shoot up and appeared to touch the ceiling of his car (it's called a ceiling if it's the inside, right? Roof when it's the outside?).

I still don't know how we didn't both die that night. Or why the fuck he came back to my store after obtaining butane. I imagine he has since died and been nominated for a Darwin Award.