I should be talking about how I finally saw “Water for Elephants” this weekend, and thoroughly enjoyed it, but the real guilty pleasure in that was the overstuffed, leather, reclining seats at one of AMC’s new dine-in theaters, which are starting to overtake the Garden State. Sure, you need a bib since you can’t sit up straight or see what you’re eating, but that might be just as well after you’ve snuck in a ‘water’ bottle or two.
But I have so many other things to tell you about. Like what happened yesterday.
I normally make a habit of avoiding eye contact when I go to the gas station (yes, in New Jersey we are still not trusted to pump our own gas), but ever since they swindled me into paying for premium a couple of weeks ago, I now look the attendants squarely in the gourd and wait for them to confirm my, “Fill it regular, please.”
Yesterday, after I said that, the middle-aged, hairy attendant simply took my credit card and replied in a thick accent, “Too much clothes” before walking away.
My knee-jerk reaction was to leap out of the car Jersey Shore-style, snapping my fingers in the air and screaming, “Excuse me? Oh no you didn’t!!” while I pulled out his beard extensions. At nearly $4 a gallon, was I also now paying an even bigger price? Was I now selling my dignity at the neighborhood pump?
A couple of seconds later, however, I saw the blinding humor in it and sat there laughing and singing along to my Warblers CD. I mean, you had to give it to the guy. He clearly wasn’t playing games. If he were a serial killer, it would have been a straightforward, “Too much breathing,” before he turned my skin into a kilt.
The ironic thing is that I’m starting to feel guilty for thinking this is funny. What do you think? Vote now!
Go Jules Go 