MC Hammer runs my local gas station. Not really, but that song was going through my head this afternoon as I tried to fill up the truck.
Not a big deal, I've been to this gas station a thousand times. Pump 9. So often it says 6, 7, 8, Bill, 10, 11...
So, I run my card through the reader, so far so good, select my grade, El Cheapo, and pump.
Click. Click. Clickity-click. Wha? I wait a few seconds. Click. Click. Click.
Then I notice a lady at Pump 8 having problems, too.
"Is this thing working?", she asked.
"Dunno", I replied, "mine is just clicking and no gas. Oh, now it says 'See Cashier'. Not a good sign."
And I wandered up to the little booth where the Cashier is imprisoned and I rapped on the window: Pump 9, is it working?
"You did something wrong and pump screwed up! It fixed now. You try again."
I tried again and nothing. Nada. No gas. Clickity-click. I looked around and everybody was having the same no gas experience. I went back to see the cashier.
"It your fault!", he exclaimed, "You no how to pump gas."
I refrained from the obvious reply and decided to cut my losses, head down the road and gas up elsewhere. I wasn't the only one who came to this conclusion. As I was getting into my truck the lady from Pump 8 caught my eye and, boy, was she furious.
"He says I can't pump gas!", she fumed, "Why I've been pumping gas since Daddy lost his arm in the grain thrasher."
That was enough info for me and I headed out to the highway wondering if Daddy had wished the thrasher had run out of gas a few moments earlier.