Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Two tales of stoopid, one of smart (Part 1)

I’d known for several days that the petrol tank was getting pretty close to empty so I made up my mind to shoot in before my volleyball game and fill up the tank. I dropped off some videos and ducked into BP quickly. (This is the part of the story equivalent to ‘insert flap A into slot B’. Tedious but you have to do it if you want the toy monkey.)

By way of background: I’ve often found that the nozzle tends to shut off prematurely and I have to force it to keep, er, petrolling until the tank is full.

So this particular time, the nozzle shuts off immediately. Try again. Click. Again. Click. Again. Click. (In case you’re wondering, this is one of the tales of stoopid). The petrol I was trying to put into the tank was more or less running out of the tank and down the side of the car.

I went inside and asked Grumpy Cashier (no relation to Hazelblackberry’s Grumpy who is rather nice for all his perceived Grumpiness) if there was a problem with the pump. He said try another pump.

I did. Click. Again. Click. Again. Click. More petrol made its bid for freedom.

Went back inside. Look, I think something is wrong with my fuel tank. We’ll just leave it there. I used about $2.60 worth of petrol (now decorating your forecourt).

Strangely, he charged me $3.85, something I’ll never understand as long as I live.

I went back to my car, contemplating a trip to the mechanic to fix my, er, faulty fuel tank. Bad fuel tank! Must relearn thirst!

Put the key in the ignition. Noticed the fuel gauge was full.

I went back into the service station and got into line. At that point, I was thinking that the pump must have filled up my tank without registering it. I was going to ask if somehow the pump might have delivered petrol unbeknownst even to itself. A kind of sleep-pumping pump.

When a sudden thought hit me.

Maybe Wifey filley tankey already!

I did the old ‘pretend you’ve forgotten something’ routine. Quizzical looks. Tapping of pockets. And drove out of there, quickly but with dignity as my befuelled engine thrummed: idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot

Yes, I told you it was a take of stoopid. One more to follow, later, along with a tale of smart(ness).





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