Last week, my 2013 Chevy’s dashboard warned that the air in my right front tire had dropped to 27 psi, and my fuel gauge hovered near empty.
(My body’s energy scale often drifts toward empty, so I sympathize.)
The
I had no idea how to check the air in the tires, so I went to the Broadmoor Heights Gas and Convenience Store, where a mechanic is always on duty. In the world of self-service, this is a blessing.
Before I asked to check the tires, I took a stab at pulling the gas pumps.
Since getting sick last summer, I haven’t driven much, so my self-service gas skills are rusty.
I get in — trying not to get too close to the gas tank — but I overdo it.
What was once familiar and automatic now seems complicated and unfamiliar.
I might as well have parked on the moon. I was several yards from the tanks, and the hose couldn’t reach my car.
I start backing up and try to repark. But now another car is behind me. I don’t have much wiggle room.
I did a U-turn and tried to line up on the other side of the pumps but ended up on the moon again.
Fortunately, an angel at the convenience store saw my dilemma.
“Can I help?’ he asked.
I want to hug him.
He moved my car into a good position and filled the tank.
Next, the mechanic checked my tires and added air, and I was ready to go.
As I was getting ready to leave, the assistant hugged me.
This 10 minute gas station episode left me feeling like a fish out of water. Once-familiar cues and signs seem foreign — even after a brief absence. I felt awkward and displaced.
When I got home, a happier memory of the gas station came to mind. Year 1995 — I celebrate my 60th birthday.
Bill rented a room at the Chilson Center and invited 60 guests. He volunteered to provide entertainment.
Little did I know that the entertainment would turn into a 30-minute slide show depicting my driving weaknesses.
Bill delighted in showing my friends pictures of fallen safety posts near gas pumps hit by errant drivers.
These stout posts look like they’ve been run over by a Sherman tank — but there they are. The real thing. No AI existed to prepare it.
Even though Bill’s slide show made me laugh, I loved every minute.
No wonder I’m so careful about fueling my car. I don’t want to knock over a bollard.
Although it’s embarrassing to feel like a fish out of water — feelings like these subside for most of us, and we move on to a happier way of our daily lives.
But I wonder if — for many people — the fish-out-of-water feeling remains.
Who are they?
Could it be the sick? old?
Those who endure a physical or mental disability?
Those who are not familiar with our culture?
I’m lucky to have a hug. Let’s order hugs all around.
