“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 566 (Sunday)

Today’s attempt at tending to the low tire pressure took me to a gas station and convenience store near my sister’s house. I usually visit this one for the decent gas prices (read: lower than the stations near me by ten or fifteen cents a gallon) when in the area Plus, it's on the direct flight path.

Gassing up the Jeep has been a challenge (read: total pain in the arse) every single time except that one miraculous time when the stars aligned and it wasn’t. Clearly, I still haven’t mastered the capless gas tank and can never seem to position the pump at the right angle so that it doesn’t turn itself off after a couple seconds. 

Today was the worst. It started with the shutting off problem after two drops of gas, then shifted to a new surprise with the gas coming back out at the entry point. After what felt like forever and included several utterances of the full text of “WTF” the pump and the tank cooperated with each other and I was able to add ten gallons of fuel to the Jeep. I hate putting gas into this vehicle. Between that, the absence of a CD player and any useful storage, and the crappy navigation system, I’m about one blink from trading it in for another ancient Honda CRV with no fancy dashboard diagnostic crap.

Once the gas was in the groove of flowing into the tank without issues, there was time to think about the air pump situation. The air pump was mounted on the building tucked in next to the ice machine near a corner of the parking lot. There was a narrow diagonally striped for no parking slot closest to the air machine which held a motorcycle. To the left of the no parking spot was what appeared to be the only handicap parking spot. The best not-in-the-flow-of traffic approach to getting air looked to be pulling partway into the striped slot, straddling the handicap spot. Puling all the way in would be too far forward. Stopping alongside the air machine, behind the parking spot could block cars entering or exiting the first set of pumps closest to the front of the store. The whole arrangement seemed to indicate the air machine was purely ornamental and not intended for actual use.

My mind was whirring with trying to calculate how long it would take to add air in the tires against the odds someone would need to access either the handicap spot or the lane between the front of the store and the first row of pumps.

Then there was the calculation of the the odds the motorcycle driver would need to get out while I was blocking the no parking strip. And if you can’t park near the machine, is the hose going to be long enough to reach all the tires? It made my brain hurt.

A dude came out of the building, strapping a helmet onto his head and walked over towards the bike while I was in the early stage of gas filling, which felt promising, like one part of the equation could be cancelled. Then he turned to the left and started talking to people in a van parked to the left of the handicap spot. And they talked. And talked.

I finished pumping, closed the gas door and got the receipt. I entered the vehicle, put the receipt and my bank card into my wallet, and took my sweet time fastening the seat belt. The car was started. The parking lot party continued. I waited a few more seconds, feeling like a stalker. And then I just left. The location of the air pump and how to access it had become a big headache. Maybe the station gives prizes to anyone who can figure out how to get air without causing a traffic jam.

Salvation supper.

By the time I got home from seeing my sister and nieces and then grocery shopping it was 4:00. Winston was in a soaked diaper belt and I was starving and hangry. The only food of the day had been a couple skinny slices of coffee bread with coffee at 8:00 in the morning before heading to dance class. 

Grocery shopping yielded some giant ravioli and frozen shrimp, so the reward meal after the long day was ravioli with shrimp in a buttery, creamy, mushroom, garlic and cheese sauce. So good, and so fast.