I don’t often post about crap like this, but somehow, everything feels like it’s really getting frayed around the edges here lately. You know what with all these unexplained booms (which I STILL haven’t found time to make a cohesive post about, regarding our theories of what it might be…but I will), some insanity here in Richland County, and of court the Turner murder trial in Harrisburg…yet in all of it I took time to do some book appearances.
And that’s where my day got weird.
First thing off the bat, as I was leaving the driveway of our Harrisburg hangout VERY early this morning, my phone fell under a seat in the Jeep. This resulted in scratched-up hands, as I was frantically trying to find it without letting Jack know that I was having problems as I was rolling up the road away from the house…but I needed it because I was meeting Jade in Norris City and she’d already advised me that ISP was (pa)trolling the highways in droves…and the sound was still off on my phone. I needed to hear it if she got another ticket, you know.
Then I get to the school (NCOE Middle School—nice place, btw) and entered a gymnasium to set up the presentation only to be hit in the head—HARD—by an errant volleyball. That’s okay, I’d already slept since yesterday’s chiro adjustment, that subluxation was bound to happen anyway.
We then went screeching up the road to the next presentation in Enfield (both presentations went beautifully, btw, despite the volleyball, and the kids were not only well-behaved, but asked numerous intelligent questions during Q&A), then opted to go have lunch in New Harmony, where I had some business to conduct next.
Business conducted, we went to have very fashionable salad, quiche and lattes at a new restaurant in downtown New Harmony. And things were improving; our business was conducted with huge and unexpected success, and we were needing to do one last little thing—fill up the Jeep before going home, at Indiana gas prices, always more of a bargain than anywhere in Illinois.
So we pull up to the little filling station that has gas .03 a gallon cheaper than the other one in town, and lo and behold, the pump wasn’t pumping; it was more like a leak, or like an old guy trying to take one of those, actually, and his equipment not quite up to the task. And all the rest of the pumps were either taken with other drivers, or bagged and useless. You know that sinking feeling you get when you’re afraid it’s the end of the world, and the gas shortages have hit without the attendants having the decency to tell anyone? That’s what I was thinking. So I let it trickle.
We sat there for awhile and chatted about the successful business we had just conducted (having to do with books, banks, and credit cards). Jack called, and we laughed about the slow pump (everyone else’s seemed to be just fine. Except, of course, the bagged ones). The sun was moving across the horizon. Jade needed to go to the bathroom (that was its own story, which we won’t dissect here). Then a young guy pulled up and started laughing at us.
“Oh you picked the wrong pump!” he said as he started to go inside the station’s convenience store. “Everybody knows pump 4 is the slowest pump out here.”
Well. Haha. I didn’t. I’m not FROM there. I get to go to New Harmony about twice a year, and then always on business. He went inside and everybody else kept pulling up to the other pumps (except, of course, the bagged ones), getting their fuel, then going on their merry way. We’d been there 10 minutes. The sun kept moving, changing the glare in my eyes from uncomfortable to rotten. And young dude came back to his truck with a handful of snacks and drinks and said “Why don’t you pull up to another pump?”
I explained (because he was obviously too young to know this) that when I swipe my credit card, the company puts a $50 hold on it to cover the expected cost of gas (in the Jeep it’s more like $65; $70 if it’s flat empty, which is almost was), and if Jack were using the same card, and HIS gas had a $50 hold on it, that sometimes ties up usage of the cards. Young dude looked mystified. He looked even more mystified when I said, after explaining the credit card drama, “And why didn’t you bring me anything back from the convenience store? Since you knew I was gonna be here awhile and all,” but he didn’t part with his snacks. He, too, went on his merry way.
So in the 18-gallon Jeep, we were now at about 17 gallons. I decided to get out and clean up the Jeep. I preach about keeping a very clean vehicle; that way, if there’s ever a bogus traffic stop on us, and some corrupt cop tries to plant something illegal, we’ll have a better argument in court; seriously, who keeps a one-hitter with residue in a very clean car? A good lesson for all.
Except the teen daughter had already cleaned up the Jeep and I found exactly one napkin and a tiny piece of cellophane, probably from Jade’s last pack of cigarettes. So I dutifully took them to the trash can, walked around the Jeep, and was talking to Jade about how remarkably clean the vehicle was when she looked at me with big Ev eyes and said “What’s that trickling?? Mo (she calls me Mo; not ‘Mom’ or ‘mother’), WHAT’S THAT TRICKLING???”
Below, you’ll see what that trickling was.
Yeah. Pump 4. Because if it’s trickling, there’s no automatic shut-off on the handle. Remember those? I do. But apparently I didn’t TODAY.
That trickling was about $4 worth of gas. On the ground and on my Jeep. I would rather have been hit in the head with another volleyball, really. The other side of my head was already impact-free; that would’ve been fine.
So, seventy dollars and thirty-four cents later ($4 of it NOT in the Jeep, but maybe about .75 worth ON it), we went home, not willing to find out how much worse the day could go. We tried counting all the good things that had happened today, but when we got up to three, and couldn’t go any further, we got depressed and quit. We proceeded to make a Walmart run (the music selection in that store’s overhead speakers REALLY stinks these days; I’m about sick of 30-something women singing like reedy-voice breathy little 14-year-olds), then went for broke and headed to Dairy Queen, where two of my three girls needed birthday cake, celebrating theirs three days apart this week.
On the way home, from my spot in the back seat next to Ev, I was treated to this.
I guess things aren’t so bad after all around here. Just avoid pump 4 at that gas station in New Harmony.