A Mildly Humiliating Visit to Shell Station

I have little structure in my life these days, owing to my general unemployment and weakness for Youtube. I do, however, take part in a quad-weekly ritual with my sister... In other words, I drive her to dance four times a week.  I look forward to these car rides, jamming along to our mix CDs or attempting to learn Pimsleur's French.  But it's nice to spend time with my sister and I'm more awake and presentable than when I drop her off at school in the morning.  Then, I'm usually barefoot with a bathrobe thrown over whatever I slept in the night before... not always a pretty sight.  

While she's dancing, I  usually loiter at the Barnes & Noble across the road, perusing novels that I don't intend on buying–-or at least not now, while I'm up to my eyeballs in debt.  I love the atmosphere in the bookstore, the aroma of fresh paper and coffee wafting over the pages I'm so careful to keep immaculate.  I've almost finished the novel I've been at for the past couple of weeks.  I came across the book this summer; the cover caught my eye and I took a photo to look up the authors (it's co-authored) later, as I didn't get much from the Hungarian translation.  At any rate, in English it's called The Circle.

I love bookshops, but they just aren't as fun when you can't read the language.

The sequel to The Circle has already been released in Hungarian, but won't come to the US until January.  Boo.

Tonight, however, I dropped off Greta and immediately drove to my friend Elizabeth's house to sew.  Elizabeth is an incredible seamstress and costumer who I've had the privilege to assist on a flexibly regular basis since I've returned from Europe.  (I enjoy this arrangement for several reasons: 1) I get to hang out with Elizabeth, 2) I can practice sewing, and 3) I earn a little income while engaging in the previous reasons).  She was in a bind tonight; her client's order needed to be filled, stat, but a wasp sting to her hand rendered her helpless against pulling 4 layers of fabric (3 of them velvet) through a sewing machine.  Thus, The Circle will wait until tomorrow evening.

After almost two hours at Elizabeth's, I picked up Greta from her studio and noticed the gas gauge pointing ominously towards empty.  I hadn't driven this car before as it is my brother's, and I generally drive our family car.  Recently, though, that car has been groaning more fitfully than can be ignored so I've been getting used to this car's quirks.  Like gunning the gas to go more than 15 miles per hour.  Or like having to jiggle around the gear shift to get it to move.  Anyway, I pulled into a Shell Station near the studio and beelined inside (as I'd just noticed how full my bladder had become).  Exiting the nearly empty gas station, I looked out towards the car.  For some reason, I'd managed to leave a good at 5 feet between the car and the pump.  I shrugged, swiped my card, removed the nozzle, selected the grade... and promptly realized that I'd never actually bought gas with this car as I unsuccessfully attempted to open the fuel door.  Neither prodding nor pulling nor clawing nor asking my sister to use her substantially longer nails to pry it open actually worked.  It was like a lidless magic box, only less enchanting and more harmful to the environment.  As I stood stupidly staring at the fuel door, the cashier I had brushed past for the restroom walked over to the pump:

Him:  Um, you planning to buy gas tonight?  I'm about to close up shop.
Me: Yes, I want to... I just can't open the, um, thing here? ...It's my brother's car.  It's stuck or something.
Him: Uh, could you open the driver's door?
Me: *opens door*
Him: *pushes lever, fuel door opens*
Me: Ah...

He walked back into the station and I noticed Greta chortling from inside the car.  I didn't blame her: I was decked out in teal harem pants and an obnoxiously colorful indigenous sweater with a pointy, elf-like hood.  I bore a passing resemblance to a poor, lost, circus performer, apparently inept with motor vehicles.

The verdict to this experience is that I'll be going there again never.  That is all.