I have gas problems
Most of the time, 26 doesn't feel old to me; then again most times I'm not talking about gas prices. When it comes to that topic, I feel freaking ancient.
See, I remember the good old days (imagine me in a rocking chair, knitting) when I could fill my tank for fewer than 20 bucks. Then again, at the time, I was also listening to alternative music, wearing flannel and waxing poetic with Angela Chase.
Simply put, I was in high school and had just gotten my drivers license. It was a rite of passage, as was learning the value of a dollar each time I went to the pump.
Plus, you get to play that game where you see if you can get the price to be exactly $5.00 ... $10.00 ... $35.00. It's a fun game; I got really good at it in college.
So a little more than 10 years later, I feel like I'm getting robbed each time I fill my tank.
In fact, I feel like the frat guys in "Animal House." Thank you sir, may I have another?
So what does this all have to do with Jersey? Well beyond soaring gas prices that leave me choosing between filling up and buying groceries, I find myself feeling awk-weird every time I go to the pump.
Why you ask? Simple. I'm not allowed to pump my own gas.
Now listen, I know you guys are used to it, but it's weird for me. W-E-I-R-D.
First off, when someone else pumps my gas in Austin, it's because I'm in a full service station. Where they also check the fluids in my car, wash the windows and check the air in the tires. You pay more for the service and tip the attendant.
The thing is, finding a full service station in Austin is like finding the Holy Grail, the diamond in the rough, queso in Jersey. It's impossible.
While in Jersey, there's always a good chance I'll forget and start to get out of my car. In turn, I'll get peculiar looks and slowly pretend that I needed something from the convenience store. (I didn't really need those CornNuts, but I'll take them.)
It really boggles the mind of visiting friends and family. I tried explaining it to my mom, but it was about as successful as explaining a jug handle. (Another thing I just don't get, AT ALL!)
She asked all the same questions I did. "Do you tip them? Do they check the tires? Why do they do this? Does gas cost more or less because of it? Can we tip them? Will they check the oil?"
All great questions, and I had the same answer for all.
"I don't know."
So today as I filled up the tank for $30 I realized something -- who needs groceries this week anyways? Good thing I bought those CornNuts.
On TV: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
See, I remember the good old days (imagine me in a rocking chair, knitting) when I could fill my tank for fewer than 20 bucks. Then again, at the time, I was also listening to alternative music, wearing flannel and waxing poetic with Angela Chase.
Simply put, I was in high school and had just gotten my drivers license. It was a rite of passage, as was learning the value of a dollar each time I went to the pump.
Plus, you get to play that game where you see if you can get the price to be exactly $5.00 ... $10.00 ... $35.00. It's a fun game; I got really good at it in college.
So a little more than 10 years later, I feel like I'm getting robbed each time I fill my tank.
In fact, I feel like the frat guys in "Animal House." Thank you sir, may I have another?
So what does this all have to do with Jersey? Well beyond soaring gas prices that leave me choosing between filling up and buying groceries, I find myself feeling awk-weird every time I go to the pump.
Why you ask? Simple. I'm not allowed to pump my own gas.
Now listen, I know you guys are used to it, but it's weird for me. W-E-I-R-D.
First off, when someone else pumps my gas in Austin, it's because I'm in a full service station. Where they also check the fluids in my car, wash the windows and check the air in the tires. You pay more for the service and tip the attendant.
The thing is, finding a full service station in Austin is like finding the Holy Grail, the diamond in the rough, queso in Jersey. It's impossible.
While in Jersey, there's always a good chance I'll forget and start to get out of my car. In turn, I'll get peculiar looks and slowly pretend that I needed something from the convenience store. (I didn't really need those CornNuts, but I'll take them.)
It really boggles the mind of visiting friends and family. I tried explaining it to my mom, but it was about as successful as explaining a jug handle. (Another thing I just don't get, AT ALL!)
She asked all the same questions I did. "Do you tip them? Do they check the tires? Why do they do this? Does gas cost more or less because of it? Can we tip them? Will they check the oil?"
All great questions, and I had the same answer for all.
"I don't know."
So today as I filled up the tank for $30 I realized something -- who needs groceries this week anyways? Good thing I bought those CornNuts.
On TV: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
posted by Lucy Quintanilla at 12:28 AM
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