Fill Er Up

Okay, I'm a female.  I've always pumped my own gas.  I have to admit that lately-well maybe the last five years or so- on gas filling day I am generally with my husband who does it.  I drive a little car.  Simple right?   That's what I thought.  I knew which side of the car the gas tank was on.  I pulled up to the fuel pump at the gas station, lined the car up perfectly and got out of the car.  I went to the cashier in her booth to pay $40 cash for gas then walked back to my car.  As I am approaching my car, I notice two cars in line behind me waiting to fill up.  I don't know why the gas station was so busy at this time, especially with the high price of gas, but there were two to three cars waiting in each line. 

 So here's the problem.  I can't open up the fuel door on my car.  Luckily I don't have fingernails so I jam my chubby finger in between the car and fuel door trying to pry it open.  No Luck.  I try again.  I cover up the problem I am having by hanging my head low--I have lots of hair, lots and lots of hair.  I haven't met a hairdresser YET that has NOT told me this.  When a crisis arises, lucky for me, I will turn my head a certain way to cover up.  I am 54 and my best asset is probably my thick, wavy blonde hair which unfortunately has been cut shorter than usual because I thought perhaps I was getting too old to wear waist length hair.  To my advantage, I turn my head sideways, hanging my head low, hair blowing in the wind hoping people sitting and waiting in their cars behind me won't know or see exactly what the problem is and why the gas line is not moving. 

   I heard a car horn honk.  I don't want to look around, but hope it's not intended for me.  I would have gotten into my car and drove away but two factors here:  First-I had already paid $40.00 cash to the cashier and I did not want to walk back to her booth.  Second-my car was too close for comfort to the big E, I would not have made it to another gas station.  Now I feel like a fool, I don't have a cell phone to call my husband and besides you are not supposed to have cell phones in your hands when you are pumping gas-though I don't think many people know this.  I see them all the time, busy multitasking person, talking on their cell phone and pumping gas.  Brilliant.  The cell phone combined with the gasoline you are pumping into your car could cause a spark in one or the other and Kaboom!!  But let's say I did have a cell phone, what would I ask my husband??  He would just love to be interrupted at work with this question;   Me--"Hi Honey. "How do you put gas in this thing."                                                                                            Mr. B. ever so patient would reply, "What thing?"                        Me, "How do I put gas in the car?"                                                Mr. B. laughing, "What?  Do you mean what type? You need to put premium in."                                                                                    Me, "I know that!"  "I just don't know how to open the fuel door to put the premium in."   


After several minutes of fiddling with the fuel door on my car and hurting my fingers, I looked around.  There was a man filling up his van in the lane beside me.  "Sir?"  He looked around, probably wondering who is calling him a sir, because these days everyone just calls everyone by the same title--"Hey."   

 I asked shyly, "Sir, would you mind helping me out with this?"  "With what?"  he asked.                                                               "My fuel door, I can't seem to open it" I replied, now truly embarrassed and wishing I wasn't a blonde having these problems.  I noticed the cars leaving my lane and the drivers looking really exasperated.  I am glad he was willing to help out.  I always expect men now to respond with, "No, you're too old, fat, and ugly."  It was never a problem in my twenties, there was always help from the opposite gender, most of the time I didn't have to ask.  The males just appeared for a young, slim, twenty-something year old with waist length blonde hair blowing in the wind having car problems.


So he steps over to my car and takes a look.  Now I see I have managed to block up two lanes at the gas pumps.
He states emphatically, "You need to open the fuel door from inside your car."  Well believe me, I already thought of this and made the dash two times to the driver's side to look for a fuel door button.  I knew this car didn't have one and I thought back on all the times Mr. B. got out of the car to pump gas and never pressed a fuel door button inside.  I told this nice stranger there wasn't one, but he insisted and walked to the driver's side with me.  We looked together.  I told him the only button I had was for the trunk.  He said, "That's weird." He scratched his head and stared at my closed fuel door on the car.  I heard the attendant in the glass booth say something on the overhead speaker but I chose to ignore her as I chose to ignore the glaring looks from the irritated drivers waiting to pump gas in the two lanes that were not moving now.  

 Okay, I thought, why not just press the trunk button, maybe the fuel door button is in the trunk.  BONK!  "That's It," yelled the stranger. 
Me, "That opened the fuel door and the trunk at the same time?" "Yup, you got it" he yelled back as he hopped in his van to drive away before the riot broke out.           What a relief.       I'm glad the weather was only 35 degrees Fahrenheit outside and people had their car windows rolled up so I couldn't hear what they were swearing saying.  It was the quickest $40.00 of gas I ever pumped.