The World We Live In

Going to the gas station isn't a particularly annoying event for me. I drive a fuel-efficient car, so the pain in the pocket book is there, but I don't feel the pinch as much as other people.

However, owning the diesel powered vehicle that I do (Jetta TDI – Blue Diesel…cleaner than your average car) means I have to find a station with my kind of fuel. There's this Valero on the corner of I-95 and Route 610 in Stafford Virginia that I love to go to. The manager is friendly as hell, and there's rarely a line.

This morning I had to stop at said station, but something was different. My friendly manager lady wouldn't turn on the ancient pump without a credit card reader.

I stood there, pacing back and forth, contemplating whether she could see or recognize me. I've been coming here for years. Of course she recognizes me! But the money guzzler still didn't turn on.

Sighing, I grabbed my purse, locked my doors, then headed toward the cashier.

"Hey," said a teenage boy obviously late for school, "The lady said she's sorry, but you have to go in now."

"Thanks. On my way." But what I was really thinking was, [Insert String of Bad Language here; I'm going to be late for work].

Pulling open the door, I cringed as the little cowbell on the door jingled. Too merry. I wanted to be grumpy!

The manager threw up her hands. "I'm so sorry. They took away my button."

I didn't even ask what button. Not worth it. "It's okay. They should put a credit card reader on those pumps."

She adjusted her glasses and jabbed at the buttons on her register. "I've been telling them that for a long time."

What year is it? "Here's my card. I'll be back."

"I can't," she said, looking even more confused than me. "I'm not allowed to approve. You have to pay first. We had a large drive-off. Thieves make everyone suffer for their crimes."

[More internal grumbling I'd rather not admit to.] "I guess just charge fifty."

Nice manager rang me up, then I went out to my car and finally pumped my fuel, but the stupid car only needed forty-eight dollars worth. Normally a couple bucks wouldn't bother me, but given diesel costs $4.11 per gallon, I was going in for my spare change.

The oil industry is not getting anything extra from me. They do not deserve tips!

The lady saw me coming and had my change ready when I walked inside. I love her. I really do, but I'm going to have to hunt down a new gas station, one that has machinery with technology for the day and age we live in.

And, as a note, if you are one of the asses who drove off without paying for your fuel: Don't you know your actions make life harder for the rest of us? Don't you know they make them harder for you? You steal gas and the prices are only going to go higher!

There. I feel better.

Happy Friday everyone!

The song that's been stuck in my head since the gas station incident!