Fill ‘Er Up

We needed to gas up at this point, so we pulled off in Asshair, Virginia* and found a station right off the highway.

Wow.

I think you might see where we’re headed here.

I was driving for about two and a half hours prior, so I said I would pay for this tank of gas and fill it as the others went inside, used the b-room, got a drink, etc. I’ll let Lioux elaborate on the crowd, as I was preoccupied. So I’m filling the tank, enjoying a stupendous people show, and I glance at the handle of the pump that I’m holding. Clear as day, I read the instruction “DO NOT TOP OFF”. I know what this means. It means when the pump stops, don’t keep clicking it to get the price to something even that you and your mental illness can live with. I read it, process the instruction and go back to the people show.

Maybe about a minute later, just to give you an idea of exactly how little time passed, I hear the familiar click of the pump’s auto shut-off. I glance at the price on the meter.

$48.13.

Surely I can do better than that, right? The little OCD voice inside my head goaded me to keep pumping. To get to that magical $48.50 mark. Just thirty-seven cents more, and I’ll be satisfied.

One click.

$48.22.

Ok, that wasn’t a good one. One more good one this time.

It is at this moment I hear a splattering sound, and feel a wet something-or-other on my leg and shoe.

Glancing down, I realize that the tank is overfilled, dripping onto the concrete and my leg.

Looking back at the pump in my hand, I once again read the warning.

“DO NOT TOP OFF”.

There it was. I saw it, and I didn’t heed it. I’ve got no one to blame.

And the kicker is that the inbred half-breed derelicts standing nearby can do this without the little faux pas I just made.

Oh – and I only got to $48.36.

And when I got back in the car, Elle, now sitting next to me, looks at me and goes, “Dude, your leg REEKS!” followed by “But it’s not that bad.”

Uh-huh.


(*Name withheld to protect the mutants living in this town)

L: Hahaha. While Alienwhere was outside pumping away, Elle, Marconi, and I went inside to the station’s little convenience store to use the restrooms and buy ourselves some treats. As we first entered the store, there was a young man whose car had just broken down and was seeking assistance from the clerk who was on duty. The clerk was little to no help at all, only offering the poor guy a yellow pages.

Elle and I both wanted coffee, and began pouring ourselves some cups. In turning around I notice the next patron to walk through the door. A hulking, fat, hairy and TOPLESS man. Yick. As Elle later put it, “He was about as charming as and reminiscent of Yosemite Sam.”

So as we go about preparing our coffee Elle now notices THERE IS NO MILK OR CREAM FOR THE COFFEE. Just that powdered crap. WHAT kind of convenience store doesn’t have MILK or CREAM available for their coffee. [Again the clerk was very non helpful]. In the end, Elle sucks it up and just makes her coffee with what’s available.

We climb back in the van, and now I’m at the wheel. Elle climbs in back with Alienwhere and that when we notice the pungent smell of gas inside the van…