It's Worse than Mom Thought it Could be

When I was growing up, we had a neighbor who owned the local gas station down on the corner of the street.  The couple had five sons, all of whom at one time or another worked at the station.

The older boys were close in age to my sister and I.  My mother called all of them 'grease monkeys' (OK, not PC) and told us we had better not marry any 'grease monkeys'.  Well, there was no possibility of that, but...

Now I have become one.  I've been pumping my own gas for what seems like forever.  Of course, I remember paying 19.99 cents per gallon at one time and someone pumped it for me, but that was a very long time ago.  I refused very early on to pay more to have someone come to my car and pump it for me when I could just as easily get out and do it myself.  Call me cheap, I didn't care.

So, I thought of this today when I got in line at Costco to get gas and pulled in behind someone who seemed clueless about the process.  First she fumbled around in her car doing god knows what.  The she came out talking on the cell phone, then she appeared to be texting, and then finally she figured out how to get the gas cap off. 

She walked over to the pump and inserted her card in the slot where the receipt prints.  Man, this was going to take a long time.  After several feeble attempts with two different cards, she was finally ready to pump gas.  By then the person in front of her was pulling away and I had to drive around her to get to the pump.

Pumping gas is not rocket science.  And I don't care if my mother would think I was a 'grease monkey' for doing it.  At least I know how.  Geez.