Can You Say Blonde?

Sometimes, I don't know why I tell these stories....

I ran to the post office the other day to mail my grandparent's scrapbook. Actually, I didn't run at all. I drove. On an empty gas tank, no less. (And I do mean empty.)

I kept my eyes out the whole way there and back for the perfect gas station. By perfect, I mean any gas station that didn't force me to turn left across a busy downtown road. I also mean, not Arco. (Not to be picky, or anything.)

On my way to the post office, I found my perfect gas station...on the opposite side of the road. I decided to stop on the way back. Decided, and hoped sincerely that the tank still contained a few drops of petrol! Hey, what's life without taking an occasional risk?

So, on my return trip, I pulled off at the gas station. Pulled up to a pump. Scrounged in my wallet for my credit card (and found it). Got out. Stared in dismay. My gas tank was on the wrong side.

With a disgusted sigh, I popped back into the driver's seat, drove around to a pump on the opposite side, parked, and hopped out.

My tank was STILL on the wrong side. Honest, I don't know how it happened!

I hung my head as I slunk back into my car. Thinking very carefully, I circled the whole gas station, came around, and carefully parked. Hopped out, smiled sheepishly at my gas tank, and slid my card into the payment machine.

It wouldn't take it. I tried again and again. Again...until it told me to "*beep, beep* Please See *beep, beep* The Cashier *beep, beep* Inside *beep, beep* The Store *beep, beep* " I felt my face getting rather red as I tried to make the beeping stop.

Giving up, I glanced upwards briefly for a pump number, and headed for the store. I knew as soon as I stepped foot inside that the cashier had seen me driving around trying to get my gas tank right side in. She smiled knowingly as I handed her my card and explained the machine wouldn't take my payment on pump 7.

"Pump 7 or pump 1?" She inquired, sweetly.

I looked out the window, a little more closely this time. It was pump 1, of course.

The cashier slid my card.

"Enter your pin number," she commanded.

I started to enter it.

"Wait!!" she said..."Was that debit or credit?"

It was credit.

She re-ran the card. I guess ditziness is contagious.

Without further ado, I filled my 10 gallon tank with 10.35 gallons of gasoline. (Did I mention I was running on empty?) Then, I drove away. On a day where it seemed that anything could happen, I was more than happy just with driving....away.