I dislike filling up for gas when it’s cold outside. I amend. I hate it.
I don’t have gloves and I’m dreading the feeling of flesh touching metal, but my gas light glows red.
Unfortunately, I need to fill up. Now. Or prepare to push.
I turn into Shell and pull forward until my gas tank is level with the nozzle.
I punch in my Kroger number to receive my 10-cent-per-galloon discount. Then I swipe my debit card. Man, it’s cold. Each transaction only prolongs my time outside.
I pick up the nozzle. Nothing. I place the nozzle back in its home and pick it up again. Nothing. I punch the gas grade button. Nothing.
It only takes another nozzle and two more button pushes to accept that the pump isn’t working.
I pull forward and start over.
A car pulls up behind me into the stall that I just vacated.
I turn and jog over to her car. “Before you get out of your car,” I start, “the pump’s not working.”
She rolls down her window. “Thanks for telling me. Gosh, it’s cold out here.”
You’re telling me.