A Hermit, High on a Mountain

I think I should just become a hermit high on a mountaintop someplace.

Whenever I try to leave the house for mundane chores, I have what I will politely call: an adventure.

With the new year and a new attitude to try to be more Christian, to do unto others, to be more accepting and less sensitive to perceived wrongs against me...

I went to fill my gas tank this evening on the way to the post office and grocery store.

I had exactly 3/4 of a gallon left in the tank, so drove straight to the neighborhood gas station, which happens to be small and difficult to maneuver in. (Wonderful traits for a gas station, eh?)

This is the same gas station where I once got the Special Ops Dual-lie Ford, w/ trailer, *stuck* between the gas pump and a potted plant.

This time, I'm just driving my humble Blazer, and it's probably a good thing.

I pull in, and there are no spots, thanks to a forklift thing on a trailer taking up two pump spaces. The other two pumps are occupied by a minivan and a luxury car, and the rest are full service, at 50 cents more per gallon. Since it already costs more than $50 to fill up the tank, full service is not an option.

I circle a few times, because anywhere I park in this lot will block other people.
When no pumps have opened, I try to find a spot to idle where I am not in the way of the customers who will need to pull out. Unfortunately, the only possible spot to park is behind a taxi cab that is waiting for its fare, who is inside the mini-mart. Of course, a gas pump opens up, and I should be able to pull right in, except the taxi is blocking me. I can't back up and pull around, because it will put me on the wrong side of the pump. (I need to draw a diagram, I hope you're following this.)

So I honk lightly--politely even--to the taxi driver. He gestures inside to indicate he's waiting for his fare. I wait, car idling, gas gauge creeping even more below the "E." I honk again. Nothing.

I ask one of the man working with the forklift if he would please ask the taxi driver to move because I am almost out of gas.

"Normally, I'm a very patient person," I lie. "But I'm almost out of gas and NEED to get to that pump before I can't drive to it!"

The taxi cab driver yells at me to be patient. I'd been sitting patiently for what felt like a very long time. Finally, the driver pulls up slightly, leaving me NOT enough room to squeeze between his cab and the tow truck.

He waves me on. I pull up slightly, judge the space.

"What are you waiting for?" he yells at me. "Go!"

I pull up a bit more and say, "I can't fit through there."

"Yes, you can," he says. I'm sure he's *waiting* for me to hit his taxi.

The gentleman from the tow truck looks at the space, shakes his head. "She can't fit through there," he says.

I tell the driver, "You're a professional driver, maybe YOU can squeeze through that space. I can't. And I refuse to try."

I'm really trying to be sweet and patient. I point to my gas gauge, which is still hovering just below E. "Look," I say to the tow truck man. "I'm not making a big deal out of nothing. I REALLY need to get this car to the pump before I run out of gas. How annoying would that be, to run out of gas IN the gas station parking lot? "

I commence asking the taxi driver, sweetly, again, to PLEASE pull up. I can't help it if my voice is trembling with anger. I haven't once yelled, and I'm using my sweet girl tone.

Now the tow truck man tells ME to calm down.

He should have seen me last week, before I started practicing patience and understanding. I might used four-wheel low to push the taxi driver AND his car out of my way.

I probably would have felt a lot better about it. I don't feel like the better person, or fulfilled, or even self-righteous right now. I'm over it, because it was a minor incident, but I don't feel great about the way I handled it. I feel like I let myself get stepped on.

Also, if I was busy getting pissed off and plotting revenge, instead of trying to remain calm, I probably would have thought of the obvious solution.

When I got home, I told T.J. the story. Knowing the way I think, and my vindicative streak, he asked, "Did you get the name of the cab company and the taxi number?"

No.

Dammit.