I Suppose I Broke the Law Tonight
In Oregon you’re not allowed to pump your own gas. I pulled into a station tonight, waited as the attendant stood slackly beside the car of two morons arguing over what cash they had when he could have taken my waiting credit card and started my gas in the time they took to settle on an amount. I listened to the pump filling my car shut off. And then waited, along with three other cars, for the attendant to return and take the nozzles out of our cars.
And waited. And started counting backwards from thirty, getting out of my car at twenty-five and craning my neck around the islands for the attendant. He wasn’t there. He’d gone into the building for some reason impenetrable to me. And the three other cars and I waited.
Somebody honked. The door to the building was propped open and the interior lit (it was apparently an office, as the convenience store part was closed and possibly completely unoccupied). I yanked the nozzle out of my car, twisted my gas cap shut till it clicked several times, and slammed my gas door. I hope he heard me.
I got into my car as he was hurrying out to the cash-morons’ car. I drove away.
I’m from Indiana. I can handle the damn gas pump. Just one more little annoyance among those that are making me tired of living in Oregon.