Never Say Never.....

I've always said that I wouldn't ever pump my own gas. I can hear myself saying years ago: "You want me to actually touch that gas thing? Put that hose into the car and stand there while the tank fills up with gas? No, no, no.... not this city-girl."

However.... yesterday, my husband and I went to a local gas station and he showed me how the gas pump works. What a sad, sad day in the history of womanhood. I mean honestly--- isn't that what we have men for? To pump gas?!

It happened ever so slowly.... one by one, without too much of a fanfare, the full-service gas stations have turned into self-service stop-and-go markets. Pull up to a gas tank, fill up your car, run inside to the market and pick up soda and chips, beer and cigarettes.

Well, pardon me, but I don't drink soda or beer, I don't eat chips, and I don't smoke cigarettes. But my car, bless my sweet little Thunderbird, does indeed run on gas. And there are just two gas stations in Clear Lake that still have one full-service gas pump at their stations. You remember those, don't you? You pull up to the pump, and a nice man walks out and cleans your windshield, checks the air in your tires, checks the oil, and (lo and behold!) fills the tank up with gas.

I have given those gas stations all of my business since we've lived here. And I've never driven away without giving the gas-pumping man or young boy an extra dollar or two for his courtesy. I've noticed, however, that at both of those gas stations, the full-service pumps have dwindled from two gas pumps to one. Just one. I know what that means: they're getting us ready for the other shoe to drop.

Before you can say "Unleaded regular or premium?"... they will be taking away the full-service pump and replacing it with yet another self-service pump.

And before they do that, I need to be prepared. What if I'm on my way to SteinMart for a great sale and my car is low on gas? I can't be driving all around Clear Lake searching for a full-service gas pump.

So there we were yesterday, my husband and I, eating lunch out on our deck. I casually asked him to show me how to pump gas the next time we were driving on Bay Area Blvd. Well.... thank goodness we were eating salad, because you can't easily choke on a piece of lettuce, and that's about what happened when I said that. If my husband had been munching on a hamburger, I would've had to dial 911 for the Rescue Squad.

Try explaining that to the paramedics: "All I did was ask my husband to show me how to pump gas and he turned blue and fell on the floor."

It was 103 degrees yesterday. My husband and I stood there at the gas station while he showed me how to put my credit card into the gas pump, take the hose and put it into my car, set the little clicker-thing so the tank will fill up, take out the hose and put it back into the pump-thing, then press the buttons for my receipt. Seems easy enough. I guess I can do that. I won't be smiling while I'm doing it, but if I have to do it, at least I'll know what to do.

For now, I'm praying earnestly that the full-service pumps stay right where they are. But just in case, I have a good supply of Wet & Dry towelettes in my car.... just in case I have to actually touch one of those self-service gas pumps.

I have just one question: If I break a nail on one of those self-service things, can I bring Texaco to court?