Saturday, April 30, 2005

Beware the Horny Guy at Free State Gas

There aren't many places to buy reasonably-priced gasoline here in Montgomery County. We're one of the single weathiest counties in the United States, although I personally do not contribute to that fact. Many of the DC-based network news anchors live here, as do Supreme Court justices and an army of lawyers, lobbyists, Lockheed-Martin execs, gene splicers and high-level NIH scientific researchers, well-fed by kick-backs from pharmaceutical companies. Oh, we have the world headquarters of Marriott, too.

I, on the other hand, am an unemployed "Eurasian affairs specialist" who just wants to be a writer. And, thanks to blogspot, I get to live the fantasy of writing (crap) as much as I want. However, it doesn't pay the rent. And, as moolah is very tight right now, I drive up the Pike to Free State Gas to buy my $2.19/gallon gas for the Crapmobile. It's about 8 miles to Free State. I could drive 4 miles to the Shell station in Kensington, where the gas is cheap because the customers are few. But, like many others, I still can't erase the image of the young woman dying there, bleeding out under the big Shell sign, after the DC sniper gunned her down.

So, there I was, the only customer at Free State tonight, as a light rain came down. Free State is a "cash-only" business, which keeps the costs lower. I sometimes wonder if my unleaded is also half water, but so far, so good. The cashier tonight was a large man with a lilting African accent and a massive tooth gap when he smiled. He looked like a more approachable Yaphet Kotto. I paid $12 through the glass window and left to pump the gas.

I heard the intercom crackle and a voice said, "How are you tonight, lovely lady?"

"Fine," said I. "Thanks."

"It is a shame that I must sit in here tonight, otherwise I would pump your gas for you."

"Oh," I answered, "that's okay. I'm fine, really."

"Where is your umbrella. You are getting wet."

"It's okay," I replied, not really wanting to engage in conversation. "I'm fine. Really."

"I bet you like to get wet. Mmmmm..."

"What?" Now, I'm wondering just where the hell this is going. "Excuse me?" The guy is smiling broadly from his window and narrowing his eyes. I think this must be his "seductive gas station attendant" look.

"I said, I bet you like getting wet. Mmmm? I would like to get wet with you... heh heh heh..."

OKAY. Conversation over. Fortunately, another customer arrived at this point, and $12 doesn't buy much, even at $2.19/gallon, so I was able to beat a hasty retreat to the safety of my car. At that point, I was wishing for a shower of Purell, but I settled for a quick peel out of the Free State lot.

I called the Sasquatch to share my ooginess. It may be worth the extra 8 or 9 cents a gallon to pump in peace at Texaco in Bethesda. Ugh.

SNL is a repeat. Time to take a shower, read a few pages of The Nanny Diaries and get some shut eye.

I noted tonight that I write better and more interesting entries as comments in other people's blogs than I do as real entries in my own. I have to work on this...

3 comments:

mellawyrden said...

oh, that "seductive gas station attendant" look!!! Good thing Mr.
Moisture was safely behind glass. Yeah, I might pay that extra fraction-of-a-dollar to avoid being completely freaked out. Yeeeeesh.

Luniquorn said...

well, at least you gave him a thrill for the day...

though i would never go back. :)
luniquorn

bethesdamaryland said...

That guy is a jerk. I'm standing there with my money in the tray and he said for me to turn my vehicle around before he would take my money and turn on the pump. I was not blocking anyone. I backed in to the first avaliable pump. I was very suprised. I've never herd of a gas station not wanting business. And it was 9pm at night. Any idea on who owns this gas station to complain?