I was already in a bad freaking mood when I got off work, OK? I had to work nine hours at a job that makes me feel like people are walking up to me and randomly poking me in the eye all day. I was exhausted and stressed out as I walked across the parking lot in the otherworldy heat, then sat in my sauna of a car listening to the pathetic wheeze of the air conditioner. (Really, air conditioner, it’s sweet that you’re trying, but you’re just not man enough for the job.) Then it slowly came to me in my stupor that not only did I have a wicked need to pee, but my freakin’ gas tank was on E AGAIN. Starvin’ Marvin, I realize that none of this is your falut but I want you to be aware of my state of mind as I pulled into your lot and judiciously selected my pump.
I pulled up, turned of my engine, pulled out the handle and hit the little yellow button. I’m not a professional but I’m a talented amatuer, I was pretty sure I could handle the whole get-the-gas-in-the-car-pay-drive-away situation. Then at the 26 cent mark the handle seemed to have a little siezure. The, um, the thing that you’re supposed to hold down so the gas will go? right, well that…thing was pulled back but the read-out was showing that no more gas was coming. I tried to turn the handle off but it seemed stuck so after standing there looking confused for a few seconds I pulled the damn thing out of the car. The next logical step, of course, is that AT LEAST 26 cent’s worth of gas sprayed out of the pump, all over my clothes, shoes, hair. I took a moment to acknowledge that I deserved this for my stupidity, then went into the gas station. A heavily made-up teenager was behind the counter, her mouth in it’s default slightly agape position.
“There’s something wrong with pump two.”
“Oh…you had 26 cents?”
“No, I want to put more than 26 cents in it. It just stopped and then it sprayed gas all over me.” (I reeked.)
“Oh…” Here she stopped for such a long time that I almost screamed,“God Damnit, girl! If you don’t know what to say to me then get the fucking manger!” But then she came back with, “Oh, well, just…go put it back in the cradle and then try again.”
I told you I was tired, right? I did it.
Things were going well until the gas pump and I hit the $10 dollar mark and I tried to turn it off. The …thingie…was again stuck. I could not turn the fucker off. I ran (god, did I mention how hot it was today?) screaming into the gas station…“Could you please turn off number two? It’s stuck…The gas will not stop…The pump is stuck…” (she is looking at me with her familiar gaze of confusion and stupidity, I am babbling on) “Remember, I told you it was stuck? Can you turn it off? Can you please just UNAUTHOURIZE IT OR SOMETHING???”
“Oh…it’s off now.”
Great. Greatgreat. Awesome. I turned around, went back to my car, got more money to pay for the gas I hadn’t wanted, and when I came back I saw that the girl had gone outside to fill the ice machine and now there was a guy behind the counter. Ooohh, a manager! I stood in line, all patient and good, smelling like gas, as the four people ahead of me paid for their gas and their lottery tickets and their cigarettes, no, I said Marlboro Lights in a soft pack! a soft pack! and then when I got to the counter I gave the man my money and said sweetly, being the responsible citizen that I am:
“There’s something wrong with pump two.”
“Yeah. It’s sticking. There’s a sign.”
“Wha? No, there is not a sign.”
“Yeah, I know, there’s a sign.”
"There is no sign.
“Oh, there’s no sign?”
“No, there is not a sign. If there were a sign I would not have used that pump.”
That Starvin’ Marvin, is when your highly valuable and cleary obvious customer service training really kicked in, because the highlight of the whole affair came when the guy said, “Girl, you don’t have to get bitchy with me. I’m trying to help you out. I didn’t spill gas on you. You can just be bitchy somewhere else.”
I said, “What did you say to me?”, and he started on the whole speech again. And this is the part that pisses me off the worst, I could think of nothing to say, I just stood there getting all red and shaky like I do whenever I get mad at someone. On top, of that, the irritating nice girl that sits in my head was whispering hissing at me, “Hey! There’s three people behind you! They don’t want to stand here at listen to you argue! They want to pay and go home!” So, alright, dude, I admit, you won the battle, but then you seem to have so much more practice at being an asshole. All I could think of was, “Well, you’d better put a sign out there before someone else gets their day fucked up like mine.”, which was pretty good, except for the fact that it was delivered in a high-pitched little girl - sounding whine as I walked out the door. Then the guy yelled, “Yeah, that’s right, you go! You stay gone!” I mean, this prick thinks he threw me out of the fucking Starvin’ Marvin! How do I live with that?
So, verily I say unto you, Starvin’ Marvin, you suck! And you have a stupid name! It’s a pain in the ass to type out over and over again! And, well, I guess I still can’t think of anthing clever to say. Except, how about this, IS YOU ASSHOLES KNEW ABOUT THE PUMP THEN WHY DID THAT STUPID BITCH LET ME GO OUT THERE AND FUCK WITH IT A SECOND TIME? And why didn’t she at least come over and pretend to look at it instead of filling the friggin’ ice?
(Sorry to subject you (you, meaning the SDMB, not the Starvin’ Marivn) to such a display of mediocrity. (if anyone read the whole freaking thing.) I was really angry but not very good at this Pit thing. That’s why I like to watch. ;))
(Gaah! And then I ending with a smiley! This does not bode well.)
{Note: I edited the thread title to make it a little less graphic, and this post to make it fit better. Lynn}
[Edited by Lynn Bodoni on 08-08-2001 at 12:45 AM]
That was your mistake. You should have stood your ground until you won. But, I understand. I certainly would have wussed out when I was your age. And even older.