Can I go now, I have a job interview to get to, or, you shouldn't have that kind of stuff in your car.

Previously, on Gas Station Adventures:

In which drunk Santa gets in a police chase
In which first aid is quickly applied
In which a crazy lady shoots a gun
In which I get punched in the face
In which a bitchy lady goes to jail

Another day, another 20,000 gallons of fuel to sell. Let it be known to all and sundry that, despite the events that I have told here, most of my days at the station were, in fact, rather dull. Car comes in, say hi, take money, pump gas, hand back receipt, say bye. Over and over and over again, ad infinitum. It was a job that allowed one to either A) turn your brain off and not think, or B) let your mind wander and think about awesome creative stuff like unicorn hair care products or specialty underwear for overweight leprechauns. Or maybe the gas fumes were getting to me.

It was also in a rather rich neighborhood. Rare, exotic, or otherwise extremely expensive cars were a common occurrence. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Maseratis, Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Aston Martins, etc. So when a very nice Porsche Carrera GT3 rolled into the station, I was not overly amazed. I walked over and greeted the driver, as I always do, with a cheery smile. He stepped out of the vehicle, handed me a card, and asked me to fill up with supreme. No problem. He then stepped over into the parking lot, and lit up a cigarette (far enough away that I didn't have to yell at him).

It wasn't busy at that moment, so I stuck by the car as it slowly filled, and my eyes wandered over to the driver. He was dressed nicely, a suit that I could tell was probably worth more than all my guitars put together. Hair slicked back. Shoes probably worth more than my shitty car. And a crack pipe in his hand.

Double take.

Was I seeing that right? I looked closer, and yeah, there in his off hand, a small glass pipe, with charring on one end and what looked like cotton in the other. Huhn, never seen one of those outside of class. I walked over to my assistant manager (who was part of the same criminal justice college classes I was) and surreptitiously told him about it. He walked over, doing his best to look inconspicuous, and had a gander himself. Yup, sure looks like a crack pipe. Weird.

We had a quick debate as to whether we should call the police, but were leaning towards not. We weren't 100% certain, though it really looked like one. And it's JUST the pipe, he's not smoking it nor does he have any baggies of something yellowish and clumpy. Probably should just let this one go.

But our minds got made up for us when a State Trooper pulls in. Complete coincidence, the trooper needs gas. Okay, since he's already here...I go over, do the greeting again. "By the way, sir, I'm not 100% certain of this, but it really looks like the guy over on pump 12 has a crack pipe in his hand. Could you go take a look?"

It's a young cop. Maybe 25. And he gets that "Oh ho, I have just stumbled upon criminal activity, I shall investigate forthwith!" look on his face that gung-ho new cops can get, and steps out of his vehicle. The driver of the Porsche has now walked back over to his car, as the pump has clicked off, and he's waiting to be disconnected so he can leave. I don't know if he even saw the cop.

What I do know is that, when the cop walked around the pillar that holds up our awning, he didn't even get a single word out of his mouth. Because the Porsche driver immediately swung on him. BAD IDEA. The cop was freshly off FTEP, all that hand-to-hand training he got in academy fresh in his mind. That one swing was all the suspect got, because he was immediately dumped on the ground and pinned down, while the cop yelled into his radio for back up. My manager and I stood in shock, jaws somewhere down around our kneecaps.

What had been just one State Trooper getting gas was now one State Trooper conducting an arrest, with two local cops, a county sheriff, and a State Trooper supervisor observing and acting as backup. My manager, another attendant who hadn't been involved at all up to this point, and myself figured it would be a good idea to back off and let the cops do their thing. Customers weren't going to be pulling up anyway, not with a bunch of red and blue lights flashing everywhere. I also suggested making popcorn, but got vetoed. Always gotta ruin the fun.

So the suspect is now being interviewed, and a search of his car is being conducted. Suddenly, everything just seems to stop, and the cop who was hip-deep in the car slowly backs out with a very large bag. Think a quart freezer bag that's been filled with air so it's the shape of a pillow. And inside is a black, semi-liquid substance. Ya know, kinda looks like heroin. Someone grab a test kit.

Yup. Heroin. Two and a half pounds of it.

Now several more units show up, all of them saying "supervisor" or "lieutenant" on the doors. The suspect is no longer being an idiot and trying to swing at anyone, but he is VERY vocal about how he needs to be released. He has a job interview to get to, and he REALLY needs to go. Over and over and over again, like a broken record of the album Interview Nervousness by the band Career Hunter. Sorry bro, that's really not going to get you out of this one. He was arrested, the car was towed away, and we basically didn't do any business for about 30 minutes. And I never got any popcorn.

TL;DR - Would leprechauns buy whiskey-flavored edible underwear?

EDIT: Seriously, I can spell, really!

EDIT 2: I can copy/paste links, too!