I was at a petrol station recently when a poetic voice came over the tannoy and said, in a thick Cavan accent, “Customer, you have selected diesel” and it turned out that I had!
By the way, there are no attendants in “gas stations” here, they’re all trainee assistant managers.
Why, just the same thing happened to me. And the voice said:
O loyal customer, thou hast selected diesel,
Yet it were unleaded that thou ought -
I, loyal servant of thy petrol station
Shall rectify the liquid that thou sought,
And swiftly change thy carriage’s elixir
From that which would thy engine disembowel
(As if a noble Bedouin’s oasis
Did offer only aqua regia foul,
And thus the camel, stooping low to sup it
Would innocently drink the pois’nous brine
And fall as in a fit of dreadful vapours
And wither as a leaf upon the vine)
And thus with magical mechanics
I do thy bidding like a woodland sprite.
(We also offer sherbets, sweetmeats, candies,
And vouchers that thou canst redeem for shite.)
Hi Octane again, pop the cap, lift the pump.
await hum of acceptance
Insert funnel into awaiting tube.
pull trigger.
hypnotised by the flash of passing cars, until the sharp aroma of petrol station flowers (half price for mothers day) brings awareness back to suburbia.
Wipe hands on blue paper dispenser, close cap and tap the hood.
Take the cash and watch for signal mirror indicate, children rushing out the door to school.