Lindsey pulled into the service station and triggered the fuel door to pop out. Standing behind it, she pulled out her check card only to watch the fierce wind take it. As she fumbled for the piece of plastic with all the dexterity of an infant monkey, she continued the process of tipping out her marbles. Spinning up and around, her kneecap smashed the fuel door. "AAH!" Balancing time with embarrassment, she quickly grabbed the pump, forgetting to unscrew the gas cap, which she then had to pull off sideways and left-handed.

I love her, but her embarrassment brings me endless joy.

And yes, we still call them "service stations." No convenience stores down here. Heck, some still go to "filling stations."

Commentary

Post a comment