Dan has had the last two days off so I have been driving into work on my own. I noticed the little fuel light came on the way to work so I wanted to make sure I filled up on the way back from work.
There is an app from the iTunes App store called cheap gas. Basically, it finds out where you are and then shows you the nearest petrol station area and the price of the fuel. Great! While at work I found out the there was a petrol station just a few blocks away that was selling a gallon of regular for just $2.50 (in UK English this means there was 3.79 Liters for £1.52). Bargain right?
Time for the trusty SatNav to take me to the garage! Ten minutes into this journey I’m thinking she is guiding me the wrong way. Fifteen minutes in and I’m thinking to myself I have REALLY gone the wrong way. Gone are the big houses and long driveways, but rather hello broken down cars and rusty shopping trolleys in the gardens. It’s the kind of place where I really needed to ask for directions but thought better of it. I could just imagine how it would play out. “Yes, you go straight until the 4th boarded up house on the right and then take a left… just keep on going until you see the burnt out car on the right. Drive through the stop sign and then you get to Bubbas house. Tell him I sent you. He’ll fix you up good”… Not the kind Friday evening I had in mind.
“You have reached your destination?” the women in the SatNav says as if it is a question. Er, no in fact no you haven’t reached your destination. I’m in the middle of the bad lands for goodness sake and I have a car with yet another warning light on the dashboard, but this time demanding petrol! I keep on driving praying I find a gas station soon. Then I see it, like an oasis, illumination the night sky with its big “7Eleven” banner gently beckoning me to come closer. Ahh, ahh ah, ah… Is that angels I hear?
As it turns out… no. It was Piped easy listening music to where the pumps where. This soon gets drowned out but the guy who has just pulled up behind me in the pimped out pick-up truck with the spinning rims, low suspension, chrome exhaust pipes and booming music. All I can think about is how I didn’t really want to be in this place, at this particular moment in time. I quickly think to myself, “Hide the valuables… but really they are all hidden away in the glove box already… the only thing that is worth anything is the SatNav, and that bi**h got me in the bloody mess in the first place. You can have her... the cow!”
It’s no good you have to fill up at some point. Let’s do this thing! The good thing about the petrol pumps here is that you can just plug the nozzle in the side of your vehicle, leave it running and you wait in the car until it goes click. It’s not like the UK where you have to wait around standing there holding the trigger… (“Ben: don’t think, about triggers right now”)
The pump goes click and I go to the Kiosk to pay. “Hmm what a nice grocery store, with nice produce and nice thick bullet proof glass to protect the cashier” I wait my turn in the line (I’m British, it’s what I do) and try to ignore the man behind me who is slurping a massive slushpuppie-esque drink in my ear. I figure he might have a brother outside in the running car. I get the front of the line and get served by the guy who I can only describe as Cheech (from Cheech and Chong) wearing a hair net, vest and has a nice shiny gold tooth. He did have a full set of teeth you understand, just one of them was gold. I hand over my card to him to pay. When I say hand it to him I actually mean post it through the drawer under the bullet proof window) and he swipes it and mutters something. Usually when I don’t hear someone say something I can lip read to get the gist of what they are saying. Unfortunately, my vision was blocked by signs saying “24hours CCTV”, “No Cash is left here overnight” and “these premises will
automatically notify the police if a robbery is in progress”. It turns out he wanted me to sign for the purchase. I sign the receipt and post back through the drawer after it nearly chopping my fingers off in its galantine-like motion.
I sternly walk to the car. Sit down, LOCK THE DOORS, turn the engine on and get ready to leave, when I get a knock on the window. “Have you got a cigarette?” says a woman with no teeth. (I swear on my life I am not making this up). “Sorry no, I don’t smoke, and my window is jammed shut, and I can’t open the door and the car is moving forward and I can’t seem to stop it, and look my breaks don’t work, I can’t stop, sorry, gotta go, sorry , bye , love you, bye” get me the hell out of here… I’ll sort that cow in the SatNav out later, I just want to get back from this side of the tracks. The toothless lady just stood on the forecourt and stared at me as she was left in the dust of my car.
After all that, the petrol turned out to be $2.66 per gallon. The moral of the story is… pay less for petrol… take it in turns to carpool/get a lift with someone.
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