Drunk Santa on a bike, or, "Hey, free ice cream sandwiches!"

Previously, on Gas Station Adventures:

The one with the sick little boy
The one with the crazy lady
The one with the angry Ohoian
The one with the super bitchy lady

I know I mentioned that we dealt with drunk drivers quite a bit. Such is the peril of working at a gas station that's near a major freeway. I HATE people who drive intoxicated. There is no excuse, ever. It's extremely dangerous, and I lost a good friend in high school to a drunk driver who missed a turn and plowed into him as he walked home from school. If you drive drunk, I have zero respect for you, stop reading right now, and think about your life decisions before you kill someone. Seriously.

It was late a night, getting close to closing time. The only people left working were myself, the cashier, and another attendant. We'd done pretty much everything needed to close the place down, and were just waiting for the big hand to hit the 12 so we could close down the pumps, turn off the outside lights, do final sweeping/mopping inside, and go home. In to the station rolls a guy on a motorcycle, a very nice Harley.

Now, when I say he looked like Santa, I'm not just being vague in that he was a fat guy with a big white beard. No, I mean that he was the spitting image of Edmund Gwenn in Miracle on 34th Street. I did at least three double takes at him, because he really DID look like Santa Claus, Hell's Angels Edition. Full leathers, vest with patches, no helmet. And he was drunk. Not sloppy drunk, but definitely three sheets to the wind.

We had developed a bit of a routine when we dealt with DUII drivers. We usually ended up with one or two a week that we would call in to the local cops, so we all knew what to do. Run the credit card backwards, so that the person had to go inside. Set the pump nozzle on the slowest setting. Have one person watching the driver while another ran around the corner of the store and called it in. This usually bought enough time for the cops to show up and bust them as they left. It worked rather well, actually.

So biker Kris fumbles with his wallet while attempting to remain in an upright and locked position, while I'm giving the "this dude is drunk" look to the other attendant. I run the card, backwards, which comes up with the error. I apologize, and tell him that he'll have to run the card inside. I brace myself for the usual angry drunk response, but instead the dude laughs. Big, dumb grin. Takes his card back, apologizes for his card not working, and makes a manful attempt at a straight line for the doors of the store.

The cashier gives me the signal that the pump is ready to go, so I begin filling his bike (not supposed to do that, but frankly, I didn't want this guy trying to use a gas nozzle while standing over a hot bike engine). I have it set on slow, and the other attendant is looking around the corner at me while talking to dispatch. He gives me the thumbs up. Boo-yah.

So St Nick comes back out of the store, with a large bag in his hand, and the same grin on his face. I may not like the guy for riding drunk, but at least he's a happy drunk. He comes up to me, and hands me the receipt from inside showing that he's paid. Cool, bro. On ya go. Except that he doesn't immediately leave. He digs into the bag, and pulls out a handful of ice cream sandwiches from our cooler. "Here you go, dude, it's a nice night, have some ice cream! Where's the other guy, he deserves some, too!"

So the other attendant, who's wandered back by this time, hesitantly takes his own ice cream sandwich, and the three of us sit there eating in silence. It was very surreal. St Nick the Rider then throws the wrapper in the garbage, laughs once more, and revs up his bike. We step back, and look across the street to see one of our local cops in the parking lot, engine running but lights off. I surreptitiously give him the "THIS GUY" signal as he rolls out of the station, wobbles a bit turning the corner on to the street, and takes off. The cop lights up and pulls out.

But then away from the station, he flew like a flash!
Ran through a red light, and then made a dash
up the on-ramp to the freeway to go
where cop cars would be a little too slow
when what to my wondering eyes should appear
but several more units, with a K-9 in rear.

They quickly disappeared out of sight, tearing along after the wayward Father Christmas in Leathers. I turned to my co-worker, and made a remark about wanting him to yell back something about Merry Christmas, and we both had a laugh.

About 45 minutes later, just as we had finished up cleaning and were heading out the door, up pulls one of the cops. He rolls his window down, and says he wants to tell us something. Apparently, ol' Tomte had led the officers on quite the chase, running nearly 10 miles before finally giving up. This was quite dangerous, because even late evening traffic on that stretch of road can be thick. When they finally got him into custody, he blew a 0.19 BAC. Someone had REALLY been into the Christmas spirits.

TL;DR - Merrrry Chri (hic) ithtmass to all, annnd to all (hic) damn, dropped m' keys.