Week 7: Pump Gas

Standard

It’s been one month since I last did something new. Tragic news. I’ve even found that I’ve developed the habit of having to gargle three times – no more, no less – after brushing my teeth. One gargle more and I feel it negates the effect of the toothpaste; one gargle less and I can still taste the toothpaste. In this huge gap of adventure, I’ve become a member of the gargle police.

But, hey, I finally did something new today. I was in Ortigas when the orange dot appeared on the dashboard – nearly empty tank. I scooted over to the nearest gas station and, with the idea already brewing in my head when I headed out this morning, asked the gas station attendant if I could pump the gas into the car myself. He just stared at me blankly, as if all he could hear was “toodle-toot, toodle-toot, toodle-toot.”

So I asked again, and his supervisor of sorts stepped in and told me it was against their regulations to let customers pump their own gas. I finally managed (after resorting to persuasion of the press and of the female kind) to get them to at least allow me to put the nozzle in the gas tank and press the thing there that makes the gas go. Yep, although I adore driving, I am so not a car person. Never was.

I guess that’s an irony I have to work on.

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About supertamad

Welcome! So glad you could stop by. My name is Cecile and I like to write stories, especially if they're true, like the stuff in here. Most of my stories talk about the people most important to me--The Hub, The One with the Toilet Humor, and The Manipulator (I swear, they have normal names in real life). So grab that drink, sit back, and read on; I put up this blog to make life more fun for me, and hopefully for you, as well. Cheers!

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