Get Me There On Time

I pride myself on my ability to stay calm in emergencies like fires, tornados, accidents or even the death of a loved one. However, there is something which most of my family shrugs off as nothing important, but which freaks me out to the point my brain is totally out of control. It is simply the knowledge that if I don’t hurry, I’m liable to be late. I can’t handle being late. If something starts to go wrong increasing my chances of not getting there on time, common sense goes out the window.

I’ve totaled at least one car in my determination to be at work on time. I’ve ripped clothes to shreds because of a stuck zipper or because my shaking hands couldn’t manage the hooks and eyes on my bra. I’ve torn my house apart looking for a credit card, keys, sale slips or something else I might need to take with me.

A couple of days ago, I was preparing to meet two of my daughters and my son at a restaurant. I realized my fuel gauge showed my car was near empty. There is a particular service station which I normally use, but it is across the highway. There is a station near me that I never use, because their prices seem to bob up and down at random. I hate going to a place which I don’t know thoroughly. However, since it was nearby, going there seemed my best bet in order to make it on time.

I pulled up to a pump and put my card in, and a touch screen popped up. ‘Are you using a credit or debit card?’  ‘Please add your pin number.‘ `Would you like to bypass the pin?’ `What grade of gasoline do you want?’ ‘Do you have a discount card?’ `Would you like to apply for a discount card?’ `Would you like a car wash?’ I answered all the questions on the touch screen, and then I got the message, `Please hit enter.' There was no enter to hit on the touch screen. For a couple seconds, I stared blankly at the screen before I got another message `Please remove your card. Your card has been denied.’

I decided there must be a problem with this pump, so I pulled up to another pump and went through the whole process again with the same result. What was I missing? I did it again three more times. There is an Einstein quote that applies. “ The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” Okay, Einstein, I get it. I’ve been diagnosed, but only when I’m about to be late.

The final time, I studied the whole pump carefully. Down below the touch screen was a metal keyboard with numbers and at the bottom of it in very small letters was the word Enter.  Hmm… maybe worth a try.  Success! I compressed the handle near the nozzle and started pumping. This is when my day really went south.

I had no intention of filling my tank. I intended to compress the handle just long enough to get a few gallons. I almost never use the clamp to set the flow so it can run until it fills and cuts off. At my regular station, when I release the pressure, it turns off and I pull the nozzle from the tank. Not so at this station. The clamp sets itself automatically. Of course, I didn’t find that out until I pulled the nozzle out. To my surprise, gas was still spurting from the hose at great force and the end of the hose was pointing straight at me. Before I could get the hose back into the tank and figure out how to disengage the clamp, at least a gallon must have emptied on my clothes. If there had been a spark, I would have gone up in flames.

Einstein, was probably correct about insanity at this point, because I had no intention of going back home and changing clothes. Gasoline evaporates quickly. All traces of it would be gone by the time I reached the restaurant. The battery was dead in my cell, so I couldn't call to tell them I'd be late.

I made it to restaurant first. None of my three children, who all came in separate cars, were there on time, because time isn’t an important factor for them. I sat outside and waited hoping some of the gasoline odor would be diluted by the fresh air.

When they did arrive, I had some explaining to do. I’m sure they would have preferred not to have to claim me. I think one of them must have alerted the waitress to tuck us away in as far a corner as possible and nowhere near the kitchen with open flames. My son, the last to arrive, detected the odor way before he got near our table and wondered if the restaurant was about to explode.

Everyone's appetite, including mine, was somewhat spoiled due to the odor. I can't imagine what those at nearby tables must have thought. At least, I wasn't asked to leave, but maybe I should have been.

In retrospect, I may not have made the best decision, but there are worse odors than gasoline. As a kid, I kind of liked the scent coming from the tail pipe of Dad’s car. Of course, I never tried eating lunch anywhere near it.