I went to get a haircut at lunchtime today and, as the car was low on gas, decided to get it filled up at the adjacent Kroger fuel stop.
In the usual course of things I prefer not to use Kroger gas to fill my tank. One reason is that I prefer to leave the 10¢ a gallon discount for my lovely bride to use in the van. As she had taken my car to the airport and I had the van, I decided to take advantage of the discount; besides, the windows were opaque and needed a cleaning. The second, more sinister reason I prefer not to use Kroger is the clientele. Today’s debacle was an illustration.
As usual, I pulled up behind someone who was just starting the refilling process. Having finished a leisurely cell phone call, a female with the approximate shape of a sewer lid (he said ungallantly) ponderously debouched from the command center of her SUV and waddled over to the pump to fill her tank. Bewildered by the extreme complexity of the payment process, she stared at the screen a good long while, pulled at her lipid-filled chin after several unsuccessful attempts to use a plastic card and eventually gave up and laboriously tottered over to the kiosk for assistance. Much time passed.
Eventually, Our Little Genius made her way back to her vehicle, managed to open the gas cap and put the nozzle in. A slow dawn of realization appeared on her stupified face when nothing happened. Several more attempts yielded no greater success. An attendant, no more svelte than she, had to be called over to help the decerebrate driver.
Not being the patient sort in the first place, by this time I was beside myself. Luckily, before blood vessels in my brain went off like fireworks, another pump opened up and I quickly zipped over. I do not know the dénouement of Madame Einstein’s struggles with 30-year-old technology. Perhaps she drove off and was plowed under by a freight train she failed to observe at one of the nearby grade crossings; we can only hope. My only concern in that case is that she might leave behind spawn as dim-witted as her.