Fessing Up
On day two, I wrote: "Something happened to me that never happened before when I got gas for the car this afternoon. I’m too embarrassed to discuss it now. Maybe when I’m a little older…". Well, I guess I'm a little older.
Several persons guessed I was talking about something happening in the bathroom (recalling the ---- stories and the Rodger-crafted video about the bodily functions of the Heilmann boys). Nope, sorry, there's nothing to add to the lore.
When I pumped my gas, Edith told me to go inside the convenient store and find out if there's a post office in town (she "didn't have time" to mail a few packages before we left home). I asked the question of an older gentleman who had to ask the store manager, and it took some time to get an answer. I paid for the gas, got in the car and took off. I heard a scraping, ripping sound, and I got out of the car thinking that the fender had rubbed against one of the posts that protect the pumps. Instead, I found that I hadn't removed the gas hose from my car (I fill up on the passenger side). The gas handle was still sticking in the Subaru, and the hose was laying on the ground.
Fortunately, only a little gasoline that had leaked out (can you imagine what it would be like if gas were spurting all over the place?) I frantically tried to put the hose and nozzle pieces together (just like you would expect a little kid to do who had just broken his Dad's glasses), but it didn't work. I rushed back into the store and found the nice man who had earlier given me the instructions to find the post office, and I told him what happened. I went back out before he did, and I found an older lady with a cane who had pulled up to the pump and was standing by the nozzle. I explained to her that she should move away because it was not safe to stand near the pump (I could picture myself on the national news as being the person who caused someone's grandma to go up in flames).
Two people came out from the store and tried and tried to attach the handle to the hose. I stood by with a concerned look for some time, and finally asked if they needed me, thinking that I might have to buy a new gas pump before this is over. Politely, they said it was not necessary for me to stay, and I hightailed it out of there. We went to the post office and scooted out of town. Although, I never approached Edith with my sense of justice on this issue, I feel that she shares at least some of the blame. If she would have mailed those packages in Cincinnati, this never would have happened.