On the buses III

​Two incidents stick in my mind in particular about when I worked at the petrol station. Well, three, if you count the time a young lad was inflating his bicycle tyre at the air hose, and it burst like a balloon with the loudest bang because he had filled it with too much air; no harm done, but quite amusing for the detached observer. All sorts of people came into the petrol station and chatted, especially late at night when things had quietened down a bit. Irish traveller-type people, who had set up camp nearby, used to come in to fill their cans with a variety of fuels: paraffin, diesel and/or petrol. One of them; a quite charming, but somewhat unwashed young man, sold me a gold ring for £25. It did cross my mind that the ring was stolen, but he was adamant that he’d found it. The council tip was located close by, and I think the travellers used to rummage through the stuff that people had thrown away, and since the ring was filthy and had a stone missing, I believed this to be the case. Despite it’s superficial grimyness, the ring was a delicate, pretty looking little thing. The gold stamp mark was visible, and it had an inset for three small, red-coloured stones (one of which was missing, as I said). It looked like an antique, and I thought it might be valuable. I took the ring to the jewellers to get it cleaned up, and have the stone replaced. The jeweller valued it at £95; so, after the renovation costs, I had probably broke even. I still have the ring. 
The other memorable incident concerns a gypsy-type woman, who was of the same ilk as the aforementioned male. She professed to being able to tell people’s fortunes, and pestered customers as they came into the shop to pay for their petrol. I tried to persaude her to move on, which she wasn’t readily inclined to do. Then, as she was becoming quite a nuisance, I threatened to call the police . Thankfully, she eventually left, but not without making a bit of a performance first. I think she cursed me.