This One’s A Real Gas

Photo courtesy of: blogs.seattleweekly.com

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!

5 thoughts on “This One’s A Real Gas”

  1. First thanks for going to my blog, I’m glad you did because it led me here. 🙂
    Secondly, I went to Jersey years ago and started to pump some gas and an attendant ran out like his ass was on fire screaming something I didn’t understand, grabbed the hose from me…screamed some more somethings I didn’t understand except for a very clear “NO!” and looked at me as though I was touched. I got from that encounter that I’m not allowed to pump gas in Jersey. WHY?
    BTW….I’m going on a road trip to your lovely land this summer with my bestie and I’m not telling her you can’t pump gas in Jersey, oh the fun.

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