pumping gas (my method)

I don’t follow the directions when I’m at the pump.  I tend to ignore them.  Gas stations are a necessary evil.  It only takes mere minutes out of your day but anyone who needs to visit the gas station is never very happy about it.  “Ugh!  I have to go and get gas.” or “I have to go to the gas station” are the normal, exasperated responses.  I’ve been known to throw a five minute mini temper tantrum at the mere hint of going to the gas station if I’m really not feeling it that particular day.  I have the dreaded routine down to a science.  The only time it gets interrupted is when the little screen asks for my zip code (Why is that important?  I have never figured that out) or if the handle is broken and I have to hold the lever down (I HATE that).  Because of the broken handle thing, at the gas stations I frequent, I know which pump handles are broken and which ones are not.  After I disdainfully pull in and step up to my car’s big, rectangular feeding box, I swipe my credit card, punch the grade, stick the nozzle in, pull the handle up, set it on that little catch and then dutifully walk right back to the driver’s side door and climb in.  That little catch that keeps the gas flowing is a nice little convenience I take advantage of.  Once I hear the ‘click’ of the catch releasing I step back outside and touch somewhere along my car’s metal body to discharge myself before I touch the rubberized handle again.  It seems to work for me.

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