TITLE: Beth Does Another Completely Stupid Thing
DATE: 3/18/2005 09:39:00 AM
So the gas light in my rental car comes on when there's just 1/8 of a tank as opposed to when it's only got like a gallon left or is running on fumes the way my...(say it!) former car that's not my car anymore does did.
Okay, it's still really hard for me to deal with the fact that I'm not ever getting my car back. Moving on.
But I figure, with my real car my former car that's not my car anymore I know exactly how long I can "ride the light". With this one, who knows. E might really mean E. So I go over to my friendly neighborhood gas station, which is when I realize that once again I have failed in my pledge to always keep the debit card in the same place at all times, always and have left it at home. I assess my cash situation: $13 and change. Mofo. Well. $13 and change is enough to nearly fill it, anyway. I hate not filling the gas tank, but that's neither here nor there.
So I pull in. I put the nozzle in, select fuel grade, and begin fueling. A while ago, I forget how, I figured out that some self-serve gas stations leave operable the little levers used at full-serve stations to keep the pump running without squeezing the "trigger" on the pump. I'm not sure self-serve pumps are supposed to have this little flinkus working, and many don't, but every so often they do. It's great, because it lets you pump the gas while you do other things like clean the mountains of rubbish out of your back seat.
Or...er...maybe that's just me.
Anyway. So I get to the gas station, and I'm thinking two things:
1) Where is my debit card.
2) I have to get to the insurance agency.
That was my plan for my lunch hour, you see, which first began to go agley when I turned on the car and the gas light went "BING!"
So I selected fuel grade and began fueling and then worked the little flinkus to make the pump go automatically and started searching through the
mountains of rubbish items in the back seat, thinking I might possibly find my atm card.
About a minute later, I startled, knocking my head a good one on the ceiling of the car.
I came flailing out again, whirling to look at the pump. It was merrily pumping its way past $16.
"FUCK." I cried, and then proceeded to sort of flap my hands helplessly for another few seconds, before finally disengaging the pump at $18.
Luckily, the owner of the gas station let me "owe" him the $5, and I promptly went over to the bank and wrote a check for cash, and returned with the money. Of course, my plans to go to the insurance agency were by now completely torpedoed.
Today I've got gas, my debit card, and cash. Let's see what can go wrong instead.