I don't know about you but my hometown is losing gas stations left and right. One became a produce stand. Another is filled with useless merchandise for sale, and the latest will soon become condos. Finding a gas station is unpleasant enough. Then add to this the drama of finding an open pump and paying artificially-elevated prices. Not fun.
As I turn into the driveway of a gas station, I weigh my options. My heartbeat accelerates and I figuratively don my boxing gloves. With the gas tank on the passenger side, I know I can fight for a number of positions.
The motor home is in position one. I couldn't judge how long RV man has been there or how large his gas tank was.
Position two is occupied by a businessman using his downtime trying to catch up on client phone calls.
Little miss coed enters the station from another entrance, speedily backs her convertible into position three moments ahead of me and gives me a condescending sneer.
All gas pumps are in use and I now have to decide which vehicle to follow.
Pressure builds. I use all of what little assessment skills I can muster and pull behind nasty college girl figuring she has to get to class and doesn't have much time to spare.
She fills her tank (which must have been bone dry). She adjusts her convertible top. She cleans her windows. She applies makeup. She rifles through some papers. She goes inside the convenience store and comes out with a Snickers and Diet Coke. And all this time, I figured, I could have taken a quick nap, watched a commercial-free American Idol rerun, or written another blog. Oh well.
Here's what you can do to reduce your number of visits (and high blood pressure) to the gas station:
Or, if you're married like I am to a great guy, prepare his favorite dinner (a steak, salad, and potato usually does the trick) and ask sweetly, "Honey, would you mind putting gas in my car?"
Whoever said that the way to sabotage a man's logic was through his stomach was wise, indeed!