EWWW! Is that your clean car I smell?

This morning on the way to work, my driving activity was distracted by a yellow light on my instrument panel. Fuel light.

I pulled into the gas station next to an empty pump. While stepping out of the car I reached down and tugged on the fuel door release handle. The fuel door swung open like a baby bird's mouth eagerly waiting for its mother to regurgitate a throat full of worms.

The crisp air was refreshing and enhanced any sort of smells or scents in the air. I could smell the exhaust of cars passing by. The sweet, tangy smell of a nearby elm tree. I strolled up to the pump and stared at the one armed cyclops. It coldly stared an unblinking glare back as if it was looking through me at some distant object. Emotionless and robotically it demanded I swipe my card.

I have been through this routine a few times. At first I would stare in unbelief, which melted away into rage as I watched the dollar amount rocket way beyond any figure I considered fair price for a tank of gas. Then I developed a detached and blank stare. I assumed the pump might not get as much satisfaction out of its heist if I seemed indifferent. It didn't seem to get any more or any less joy out of sucking my bank account dry.

Now I have accepted the fact that I am about to exchange an empty tank for an empty bank account. That's life, so I better just get on living or spend my time continuously outraged. I now spend my time fueling with activities that will distract my attention. I wash the windshield. Check the tires. smile in the side mirrors to see if there is any broccoli stuck in my teeth or wander around the car looking for change, so that I don't feel completely broke when I pull out of the gas station.

I put the nozzle in the car and started the pump. The windshield had a few bugs splattered on it. I removed the squeegee from the bucket that was mounted to the side of the garbage placed next to the pump. I took a brief glance at the pump and saw the numbers ticking by so fast I couldn't decipher one from the next. I cringed and returned my attention back to cleaning the windshield. Using the squeegee as a scrubber I scoured the bugs off of the windshield. I began to smell something peculiar. It started out faint but the stench grew stronger until it was an all out assault on my nose. It smelled like the back end of something that had just suffered some serious intestinal distress. *sniff* The back end of something - dead. Something that had been dead*sniff* - for a LONG time. I squeegeed all of the water off of the windshield and wondered if there wasn't a nearby sewer treatment plant. None that I knew of. Maybe there was something or, someone dead nearby. I checked under the car to see if I had run over something and had perhaps snagged the carcass under the car. Everything looked good.

The pump snapped off after finally deciding on some sinister amount to damage me with. I stumbled back a few steps, gulped and marched over to the pump to remove the nozzle before it decided to charge me more for a drop or two that might fall off the end of the nozzle.

The smell still seemed to hang in the air. I looked down at the squeegee dangling upside down in my hand. It seemed to be smiling back at me mischievously. I wondered what it was smiling about. I quickly tossed it head first into the bucket of water where I had found it. It merrily splashed and came to a rest. The stink grew even more foul. I could almost see the squeegee laughing out loud at me. "What are you laughing at?" I scowled as I smelled my hand - WRETCH!!! My hand smelled horrible! It was the squeegee! The water it was marinating in must have been horrifically stagnant! It must have thought this whole window washing experience was hilarious.

Ashamed and offended I jumped back in the car. But before I could close the door I heard the gas pump let out a deep and hearty chuckle. I grimaced at the pump. It was the only thing I could think to do. I pulled out of the gas station, steering with one hand while holding the offending hand in mid air not touching anything with it like it was covered in tar. I could not get to work fast enough, so that I could wash my hands.