Gasoleen

From time to time I have to replenish the tank in my car with gasoline. I like to pump my own gas. I like to scan the newpaper and magazine headlines as I walk into the mart. I always toy with the idea of buying some jerky since I've never experienced the savory goodness of dried "meat". I enjoy chatting with the attending employee standing in front of the wall of cigarettes. We talk about why Nascar and the cigarette manufacturers are in so tight or why people go to a gas station to charge milk on their credit card. It’s usually a pleasant conversation ending with a “Have a good day” or a “Take it easy, man” depending on the apparent sex of the attendant. If the weather is nice, it’s even fun to pump the gas as the aromatic fumes trigger happy memories of cars I used to drive when I was free to roam the highways and by-ways of this great country of ours. Good times.

Then, as the counter spins inexorably closer to my designated dollar limit, I start to feel the tension building. Where will it stop, before it begins its creep to the .00? Keep going, you digital demon. Higher, higher, …

$19.67. Now you’re going to click one god-damned cent at a time to $20. You couldn’t stop a $19.77 or $19.87?!!? What is the god-damned reason for this torture anyway? If you can stop at $19.67 you can stop at fucking $19.97!!!! Thanks for ruining my day, you bastards.