Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Jersey Girls Don't Pump Gas
Just in case reading this blog has left you with the impression that my life is roses, rainbows, sunshine and lollipops (bonus points for the person who can tell me what song that's from), allow me to share with you my most recent bout of spastic dumbassery.
On my drive up to Joy's last weekend, the car used up almost all the gas I had in the tank. No worries, I thought. They have gas stations in New York, I'll just fill up, like I always do, and be on my merry way.
Okay, so you know how when you pull the handle on the gas nozzle, it'll automatically release when the tank is full? Well, it kept releasing, after only filling for 30 seconds or less. Something, I thought, must be in the tank or, the head of the nozzle is hitting the inside of the tank and making it think it's fuller than it is.
Being the genius that I am, I pulled the nozzle out a little bit and kept filling. Except the force of the gas coming out of the nozzle forced the whole thing completely out of the tank and for a split second I watched a FOUNTAIN of gasoline pour completely over my car, my shoes, my leg, my hip, my hand and arm.
IT WAS ALL OVER ME.
Dumbstruck, I finally released the handle and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily it was not rush hour and the gas station was relatively empty. I finished filling my tank, watched the gas evaporate off my skin, inhaled the noxious fumes now covering my body, my clothes, my shoes and my HAIR, paid with a credit card (no way was I going into the station) and left.
Of course, as a result, the interior of the car stunk of gas the whole weekend. I got to Joy's, took a shower, put my gas-soaked dress into a plastic bag, threw it in my overnight bag and tried to forget about the whole thing.
That night when we got home, I pulled my pj's out of my bag and wouldn't you know it, they stunk. In fact, the ENTIRE contents of the bag stunk of gasoline. Clearly, the plastic bag holding the bad dress had done little to stem the stink.
Ugh. So I pulled everything out of the overnight bag, including the plastic bag of badness, doused it all with body splash, slept in my clothes, and prayed that it would all smell normal again in the morning.
Luckily, it did. The dress is still in the plastic bag waiting for the next trip to the dry cleaners, and the laundry took care of everything else, but seriously, the entire thing has left me feeling scarred and with the conviction that pumping one's own gas should be illegal in every state.
No matter what.
Posted by Kate at 2.6.10