|Photo credit: sodahead.com|
Tonight on my way home from work the dreaded low fuel light comes on inside the car. My head hurts something terrible, and I really don't want to pump my own gas so I contemplate: "Can I make it home and have The Reluctant Farmer go out and fill up my car later tonight?" I decide I might not make it home, and there is only one thing worse then having to pump my own gas with a headache: WALKING! So, I pull into the gas station, where there are approximately 10 gas pumps, and notice that every pump is occupied except the pump on the end. I drive over to the pump, swipe my credit card, and start pumping my gas.
Suddenly I hear a man say: "Excuse me ma'am?" (I automatically assume he has noticed that I have a headache and wants to pump my gas for me....)
I reply: "Yes?"
And he says: "I just want to tell you how wrong it is to use the diesel gas pump when you don't own a diesel vehicle. It's like parking in a handicapped parking space and not being handicapped. It's just rude!"
Here's where I pause and chuckle, because I am sure one of two things is happening.... Either this guy is TOTALLY not serious, or at any moment Ashton Kutcher will come hopping out of the passenger's seat of this truck because I am being Punk'd.
I quickly ask: "Are you serious?!" (At this point if either the driver OR Ashton Kutcher hops out of this truck, I am totally going to knee them in the balls.) And offensively the driver replies: "Yes! You are being terribly rude!"
I know anyone who knows me and is reading this right now is going: 10..., 9..., 8..., 7..... Because I am about to EXPLODE!
I turn to him and say: "Do you know what's rude? You are! I have a headache, was here first, and in case you have not noticed this pump sells both, regular AND diesel fuel! And do you know what else?! You are making me angry! So angry, that the only thing to improve my mood is chocolate!"
I efficiently spin around with my key fob in hand, held high over my head, wait for the "beep, beep" and stomp inside to buy a candy bar, leaving Mr. Happypants to stew in his truck for a little while longer. Not wanting to ruin my night, and in order to keep my status as the Queen of Passive Aggression, I decide I need to treat others better than Sir Happypants treated me, so I allow 4 other people to go in front of me to pay for their gas and sundries. (I'm in no hurry....) And when they thank me, I explain that the guy in the truck (and I point to him) was so kind to me, that I just wanted to pay it forward and brighten someone else's day. It was so beautiful making someone else's day, but not nearly as nice as it was watching Captain Patience stroke out as I took my time in the gas station. That'll teach ya, punk!