People think I make this stuff up, but I honestly just can\'t.
Sunday was a beautiful day, and so despite a bit of an achey back, I was out back doing some yard work. Needing some mulch, I walked over to the nearby garden centre and bought a big bag of cedar mulch.
Making my way back, I cut through the Loblaws gas station, my big bag of mulch on my shoulders, my Big Ass Fans hat on my head, and a general smile on my face, when a woman came up to me and asked if I could help her.
I put a picture of Zsa Zsa Gabor on this post because although the woman in question had red hair, otherwise, it could have been her. She was an older lady in expensive clothes and jewelery with what sounded like, well, a Zsa Zsa or Eva Gabor accent.
She looked to be in some distress, so I followed her as she walked over to the last pumping area at the gas station, pointed at the pump in a frustrated but humble way and said, “I can’t work this thing. Can you put some gas in my car please my dahling?”
I admit, I was a little surprised that there were people in Canada who didn’t know how to operate a pump at a gas station, but okay. I walked her through the steps of using her credit card to activate the pump, then asked her what sort of gasoline she wanted. You might think I asked her whether she was a proponent of boundary or cubic string field theory by the look on her face after I asked her.
I explained that there were three types, regular, plus and ultra (or something like that, I don’t remember now actually). She asked me what the difference was. I admit, I know a little bit about string theory, but I don’t actually know the practical difference between types of gasoline other than the expensive stuff has more octane and is, in theory, better, so I said, “The expensive stuff is better, but the regular stuff should run your car just fine.” She took out a gold card and said she wanted the expensive kind.
Now, I should describe her car, because you might be thinking that someone who wears expensive clothes and jewelery and doesn’t know how to pump her own gas would be driving a Mercedes or a BMW or something along those lines. Well, you would be wrong. She was driving a beat up, rusty Buick Roadmaster.
The strangeness of this all was very puzzling. So puzzling that I pumped pretty much the entire Buick’s tank of gas while still holding a giant bag of mulch on my shoulder. It wasn’t until she pointed out that it was amazing how I could do something so complicated (as pumping gas) while holding such a heavy bag (it was heavy) at the same time that I realized I should probably put the bag down.
Throughout it all, she kept calling me “her angel” and asking how much she owed me. She didn’t need to pay me a thing, the weirdness of the experience was more than payment enough.
Seriously, any theories of why a woman who obviously had lots of money and no idea how to pump gasoline would be driving a car like that? I think it’s going to bug me for a long time.