Priming the Pump.

You know that saying 'Oh Thank Heaven for 7-Eleven'?..
I have some issues with it.

For starters, I don't even like Slurpees that much. Sonic's CreamSlush are so much better. We're talking eons better.
They're as different as hotdogs and corndogs.

But the real reason I'm not a fan is that, up until today, I was unable to master their stinkin' P.O.S. gas pumps. Laugh if you will, but it's true.

How I was mystified by a phenomenon that nearly every human being over the age of 16 has somehow seamlessly mastered continues to concern me.

But regardless, every day for work, I run the same errands. Bank. DMV. Post office. And every day, I am in the same vicinity of exactly ONE gas station.

You guessed it: 7-freaking-Eleven.

So what happens should I need gas, you might ask?
I go out of my way to find a Chevron. Because they have Techron.

And I don't feel like such an moron when I'm there.

So in a moment of bravery a few weeks ago, I felt determined to figure out why in the blazes 7-Eleven's dang pumps would not put petrol into my tank. I pushed all the right buttons. I followed the directions on the screen perfectly. Nothing.

Thinking perhaps it was a faulty pump, I flipped around into a different stall. Tried it all again. Twice.
Dang-blasted thing STILL wouldn't dispense a single drop.

So refusing to make a bigger idiot of myself than I already had, I did the only logical thing a person of my great intelligence could do: I brought the husband back later to try his hand. It had to be some type of malfunction.

I waited in the passenger seat as he stepped from the car, beeped a few buttons and was instantly granted fuel to his hearts desire. I was flabbergasted!
And irritated..

I only know of one other person with such magical abilities: my pops.
And I don't need patronizing from anyone else.

So today, when my gas meter gave its last sigh and dropped to empty, I knew what I had to do: flip that puppy around and defeat my dreaded enemy.

I'll have you know that it only took fifteen minutes and two attempts to figure out that when the screen tells you to 'remove nozzle and life handle', it isn't talking about the same handle that every other gas station in the known universe is referring to.

And why should it??..

Oh-ho-ho-no.
It's talking about the actual stirrup the nozzle rests in, a plastic hammock if you will. A fact that is documented neatly in two small icons, relative in size to a pea, located three feet from any other noted instructions.

Only after studying this diagram up close was I able to determine what exactly the gas pump from Hell wanted.

And so I emerged $41 poorer and victorious. In a manner of speaking.

Because really, I am still astounded at my ineptitude.

The Day I Almost Died.

*Disclaimer: Anyone who suffers from paranoia on a daily basis should not read this. I repeat. MOM. STOP READING.*

The events found in this narrative are based on a true story.

In Provo City, the characters of this drama are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the innocent young girls just trying to get back to their apartments and the scary-looking, bedraggled young men asking for a ride to the Conoco. These are their stories.

DUN-DUN.

Corinner-Elly sat watching the light show display her Daddy-O had helped create in front of the City Building on Center Street. All around, garlands and bows decked the light posts. The strands of light adorning every surrounding inch blinked happily in synchronized rhythm as the radio swelled to the tunes of 99.9 FM. She turned up the volume, determined to soak in the sounds of the season.

"I love Christmas music." she thought cheerfully, "It's both joyful and triumphant." :D

When the 4-song loop reached its end, she decided she'd better get a goin'. There were things to do, places to go, people to see. Throwing the car in reverse, she glanced over her shoulder to look for an opening in the traffic to appear.

Suddenly, three loud taps startled her. Hovering near her driver's side door stood one of the roughest characters she'd seen in a long time.

His hair hung in greasy strands over the gleaming spikes adorning each ear. His dirty fingernails clutching various filthy bags that clanked to the tune of beer bottles. One hand pinched the last few inches of cigarette, still smoldering as he placed it between his yellowing teeth.

Hesitantly, she rolled down the window a bit.

"Hey." the dude breathed hurriedly, "Think you can give me a ride?"

"No. No. HECK no.", Corinner-Elly's shoulder mother screamed.

"Uhm. Sorry." she blurted frantically, "I can't."

 "Please!" he plead, "I really need a ride. I'm going to miss my bus. I'm trying to get back to Oregon."

At this point, Corinner-Elly's shoulder angel promptly gagged and bound her shoulder mother.

"Where to?", she hesitated.

"Just down to the gas station on the corner.", he reassured.

She paused a moment. "Are you trustworthy?", she teased.

"Oh, of course!", he declared while throwing open the back seat door.

Suddenly, Corinner-Elly's shoulder devil burst onto the scene. Within the course of an instant, she imagined the million ways this scenario could go wrong. The least of which involving her demise.

"Oh sh**." the vagrant realized after looking to the embers in his palm, "You smoke in this car?"

Corinner-Elly quickly glanced around herself, mentally taking stock of her surroundings to make sure she was still sitting in a Ford Taurus that had jewelry hanging from the rear view mirror, was blaring "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas", had been meticulous vacuumed and included an ever-so-lovely pine & fresh-linen scented car freshener. Did she look like she smoked in this car?

"Uh, no.", she retorted quickly.

"I've gotta get back to Oregon." he explained, "Cuz' I live up there ya know. I came down here to live with my wife but we had a fight, ya know, and I've gotta get home."

"That's too bad." she sympathized, "Especially during the holiday season. I was just enjoying the Christmas lights that my dad..."

"F*** this traffic." he bellowed, "F***, f***, F***!"

Corinner-Elly stopped speaking at this point.

Corinner-Elly gave up all hopes for polite conversation.

Corinner-Elly's ears began to bleed.

While nonchalantly tapping up the Christmas music volume, she contemplated a visit to the bishop's office.

"So... what time is the bus supposed to be there?", she tried to break the silence.

"Six.", he impatiently shot.

Glancing at the clock, Corinner-Elly noted it was a solid 6:15.

"Uhh. I hate to break this to you," she inserted, "but I think you may be out of luck."


This produced another long list of obscenities. Some of which, she wasn't sure she had heard before.

After an eternity, they reached the gas station.

"Good luck!", she smiled while trying to look sincere.

"Thanks.", he mumbled over his shoulder as he wandered off into the empty parking lot.

Not surprisingly, there was no bus in sight.

And thus, Christmas was saved. Corinner-Elly had shown the true spirit of impulsive service and hadn't gotten murdered in the process. There wasn't even any beer spilled in the back seat, which was a solid concern at one point.

So listen dear children and learn your lesson well.
If you have a bus to catch, leave the bar early.

Er... I mean... Don't drink either.

Aren't I the most idiotic nice person you've ever met?