Memoir 2: Cheese, Milk, Eggs, and Butter

            In the late fall of 1991, I took a job replenishing cheese, milk, eggs, and butter stock at a local gas station in my hometown of Blaine, WA. This was the first job I landed after quitting Bellevue Community College. My parents took me back home without debate and with open arms. My Mom and Dad's words were always in my ears: "You can always come home. Always." I had patient, loving parents.

            Cheese, milk, eggs, and butter were sold so frequently in every grocery store and gas station mini-mart in Blaine, WA, that a single employee had to restock it all for an entire eight-hour shift every day from 2PM until midnight; that was not surprising in my border-town in the year 1991. Blaine is located in the furthest Northwest corner of Washington state. Canadians crossed the border into the U.S. to purchase those staples and a full gas tank; it was cheaper than in British Columbia and convenient due to Blaine being located minutes across the Canadian border of White Rock, British Columbia. Even with the exchange rate, the taxation in Canada saved our border-crossing customers money.

            Blaine was known for having many gas station mini-marts due to our Canadian friends' high demand for affordable staples. With the Canadians' money, Blaine generated the tax dollars it did to have exceptional schools, clean roads, and other great infrastructure benefits. Essentially, Blaine, WA, was a beautiful place to grow up, and I credit the Canadian customers for flooding its economy with cash.

            The population of Blaine was around 2700 residents in 1991. So, the people of this community could not have propped up the infrastructure without the residents of White Rock, B.C., and the surrounding areas, like Surrey, Richmond, and New Westminster. However, getting the people of Blaine to admit that we needed our Northern friend’s money was challenging. Many Blaine residents thought the Canadians were a pain. I had several Canadian relatives, so my perspective differed: I loved my Canadian family. Yet, my fellow residents didn’t share this feeling.

            I was often asked if the cashier would go lower on those staples when working at the gas station. I kept it simple, "No. The price is the price. Sorry." I kept this sentence locked in my head, ready to deliver it whenever asked. Sometimes, my B.C. friends would press the issue, but I would follow up with, "You'll have to ask at the register, but I know the answer will be 'no.' It's always 'no.'" With that, a look of defeat would grow on the face of my inquisitive, persistent customer from the North, and they would begrudgingly pay the cashier and leave without their discount. This was probably what perturbed my fellow Blaine residents—the constant bartering. But people all over the world are always looking for a better deal. I didn’t take it personally.

            These were simple obstacles. So, most of us had patience for bartering as long as life was generally peaceful and tranquil in our clean, little town. Granted, I wasn't prepared for the challenges of a bigger world, which was evident by quitting college the same day I started and moving back to Blaine. My first obstacle, and I failed to find another path.

            Each afternoon, as I walked to my new job at the gas station three blocks away, I didn't think about how I would deal with the customer. Instead, I thought about what I would do with my life. Every night, I could not distill an answer.