Greg and I went on a date last night…dinner and a movie. On our way home, Greg stopped at the gas station and realized he did not have his card. We have cancelled more debit and credit cards this year than the past 3 years combined. When we returned, our babysitter shared a story about her being absent-minded. Which is hard to believe because she is such a smart and aware person.
Instead of just letting her have her story, I of course had to top it. Of course, ‘topping it’ meant trying to find which story to tell, not finding ‘a’ story to tell but which of my more humiliating stories would be most suitable for this occasion.
I immediately went to the time my friend Amy accompanied me to a workshop/conference in Orlando. On our way home from the conference, I stopped at a gas station to fill up my car and went inside to pre-pay. I ended up telling the cashier the wrong pump number…surprise surprise. And because I paid inside, my card over-rode the customer’s card and I basically ended up paying for someone else’s gas.
I went outside and confronted the man with my idiotic story and he was so polite and immediately offered to pay. He went in to prepay $50 to the cashier and waved goodbye, wished me “good luck” and drove off into the sunset. I was at the prepaid pump, or so I thought, and went to pump the gas in my car. But when I pulled on the trigger, the gas wasn’t coming out. “I bet he paid on his side”, I thought. I got in the car and drove around to the pump as quickly as I could; I didn’t want anyone else getting another $50 free gas.
I put the gas nozzle in my tank and pressed down the trigger and again, nothing. Of course, I began sweating. Apologizing profusely to my sweet friend Amy who was innocently sitting in the car. I thought to myself again, “ok I guess it is the other side. I repeat this process two more times until I end up on the ‘wrong’ side again. I ask the cashier what pump I am supposed to be using, because the money doesn’t seem to be there and she tells me it is the pump opposite the one I am currently occupying.
By this time, someone else has pulled up to the pump. I run over to the man and explain my plight and he begrudgingly obliges. When I pull up to the correct pump and find it too is not pumping gas into my car, my sane friend Amy leans out the window and says, “You pushed the correct octane lever on the gas pump right?” “Why no Amy, I didn’t”.
So, 30 minutes later along with an irregular amount of sweat, I get in my car and off we go…laughing all the way. It took me one week to get up the nerve to share the story with Greg. It is absolutely not the first time I have done something like this and it is just the kind of thing that would drive Greg crazy!
I blame my ‘aloofness’ on the time when Greg and I were dating and I would go over to his apartment and watch a movie. I always fell asleep 10-15 minutes into the movie. Falling asleep in a movie is highly uncharacteristic of me. Weeks went by and eventually we came to the realization I was passing out due to the kerosene heater fumes. We are talking about a month, maybe more, of hanging out and watching movies and passing out on his couch. There is no telling how many brain cells I threw away during that time of my life.
So my last post was about my life and how metaphorically speaking, I was either out of gas or filled up wrong kind of gas. This rant has been about my gas station debacle and the inhalation of gas fumes.
Clearly, I have a gas problem.
And my husband has a debit card problem.
I think we go together very well.
He pumps my gas and I hang on to his wallet.