In the off chance you find yourself in Downtown Burbank needing to stop at a 7-11, avoid the one at the corner of Glenoaks and Cypress. I go there only out of necessity.
One of the clerks always insists upon telling some form of dirty joke when you see him. First time I saw this guy I came in and he pointed at me and yelled, "Those pants!" I didn't know what to do about that. How do you respond to that? I thought of pointing back and yelling, "That shirt!" but I was afraid of what that would bring. Instead I just shrugged to which he told me he had a pair of pants exactly like those. I imagine he and I weren't the only two in the world with a pair of old jeans but I didn't want to disappoint him, it seemed to mean a lot to him.
This guy also has a habit of "amusingly" making up prices at the register. He'll say a total is $150 instead of say, the actual total which is $3.50. He'll laugh then and point to the real price.
The other clerk speaks nary a drop of English. First time I saw him I'm in there getting a Dr. Pepper and a hot dog. Well, I decided not to get the hot dog because it became obvious what an arduous task this would be. There's about 15 people in line while he figures out how to use the register. So he's struggling to get by and ring these people up and send them on their way. It's because of this I decide against the hot dog. It would've broken him, I think. So when I get up to the register I'm patiently waiting while the Dr. Pepper is being meticulously scanned and suddenly, in the front door bursts the homeless guy from outside, who pushes his way through the line and goes behind the counter. He proceeds to wash himself in the mini-sink: hands, arms, face. Every customer in the place, myself included, freeze and watch the scene with horror and disgust. One would think the clerk might put an end to this as it is no doubt setting a new record for health code violations. But no, much like us, the horrified customers, he freezes. Nary a word is spoken, nor a movement made. He just stands there, watching this guy do his mini-bath. He finishes up and leaves the store. We watch him go, silently. Then, as if this bizarre interlude had never occurred, the clerk finishes ringing me up and ushers me out the door.
I go there recently and the fellow with limited english is standing over the sink eating a taquito. He sees me and continues to chow down on his taquito. I wait a moment, nothing happens. I have an ice cream and two lotto tickets and give them a small shove on the counter, just to give him a little hint, as if to say, Yeah, that's it...I'm ready.
Finally, as if it pains him to have to do so, he comes over and starts to ring up my ice cream. I hand him the two lotto ticket forms and he runs them through the machine, then places them back on the counter. He manages to tell me the total for my ice cream and two lotto tickets: It's $15 and change. I pause--"Huh?" He mumbles something in no language I recognize and points to the total. "How much is the ice cream?" I ask. I look through the lotto tickets and find there's an extra one with several quick picks printed on it. "Oh, this isn't mine," I say and hand it back to him.
"No, no," he says and pushes it back towards me.
"Um, no," I say again and hand it back to him. "I didn't get this." I point to my lotto sheets and the show him I only have two tickets. "I don't know what this is," I say, handing him the many quick pick ticket. "Not mine." He takes the ticket, eyeballs it suspiciously, then hands it back toward me. I shake my head and put out my palms--"No, man--I didn't get this and don't want it." Then point to my two tickets and ice cream. "That's it. Just these." Finally, he sighs and sets the quick picks aside. He punches many a button on the register and the price is adjusted to the more reasonable total of $6.49. I nod, "Okay, thanks--cool," I say and reach into my wallet, retrieve $7 cash and hand it to him. I pocket my two lotto tickets and grab the ice cream. I stand prepared to receive my change. Nothing happens.
He stands there as if everything is completed. I extend my hand ever so slightly. He stares down at my hand with a bewildered and somewhat concerned expression, and shrugs. I say, "My change?" he repeats whatever it was he just mumbled shakes his head, more in a confused manner than a refusing way. "Uh, I gave you $7," I point out. "Change?" Once more, the bewildered and concerned expression, followed by the head shake, shoulder shrug and unintelligible muttering. I give up, decide it simply isn't worth the trouble. I shrug right back. "Have it your way, dude."
Leaving the store the homeless guy asks, "Hey man, you got any spare change?"
"I don't," I reply and throwing a glance back into the store, I add, "but he's got an extra 51¢ in there."
That should tell you everything you need to know about this 7-11. read more