It Just Figures

Let's just say you are having a really, really long day.

And let's say that on your way into work, your gas light went on and dinged to let you know that you need to get gas.

Which you thought about getting last night so you wouldn't be rushed or feel panicked as you were driving the 45 minutes to an hour commute into work.

But let's just say that you didn't want to be late, so you coasted in to work, thinking you'd get gas on your way home.  No big.

BUT.

As soon as you get in your car, three people immediately call you about: The big volunteer project; another question about the big volunteer project; and your husband, calling you from Costco, asking what kind of baked goods you want him to pick up to pass off as your own for the bake sale.

So you're a little scattered, and trying to answer questions [Yes, I know he said he'd do that, but he didn't so you need to pick up the slack; That's fine, just do what you can; A dozen muffins, who cares what kind] and then you realize that you have suddenly driven into a residential area [thanks for letting me over, you fucking twat in the Lexus SUV] and you have NO FUCKING IDEA where the nearest gas station is, so you pull out your handy dandy iPhone and pull up the map feature and search for GAS STATION, NAME OF CITY THAT YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BE IN and ta da! Up pop several pins signifying gas stations.  You pick one that looks closest and drive toward it, except you fuck up and turn too early so you end up in ANOTHER subdivision and then you finally find a major thoroughfare and you see it!  Up ahead!  A gas station!  And you don't care that even though it's drizzling this particular gas station doesn't have any overhangs to protect you from the weather.  Who cares? You just want to get through the intersection and pull in and you get out and . . .

You cannot for the life of you figure out what the hell is going on with this gas pump.You've got the nozzle in your car.  You've selected the cheapest grade.  And then: You push the PAY CREDIT button, but don't see where you can swipe your card and suddenly over the loudspeaker you hear "GARBLE GARBLE BLAH GARBLE" so you keep trying to figure out how to get the gas to start flowing because who cares? You'll go inside and pay.

And then this nice old man comes over and says, "This is a full service pump."

And you look at him blankly and say, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what that means."

And he looks at you like you're an idiot, but you're his idiot, and says, "Here someone has to pump the gas for you," and you think, we'll I'M PUMPING, but he kindly points to the next pumps over and says, "You can pump yourself over there."

Fuck.

Fine.

I get back in the car and pull around, hoping I have enough gas to actually get to the fucking pump, when I finally reach it and am able to pour that sweet, sweet fuel into my tank.

And when the little screen asks me if I want a receipt, I press yes.

And it fails to print a receipt.

Of course.

So I stand there, demoralized, and get in my car and drive home, because I cannot deal with one more fucking thing.

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