...a gas pump. No, really...I'm not. Here's why.
Early in the morning I was sipping my coffee with my farm boy sitting nearby. We discussed his lesson plan for the day and the fact I needed to leave for my appointment extra early since my truck was out of gas. Being a chilly morning, there was no desire in me to jump out of a warm vehicle and gas up...none.
With my farm boy's urging I headed out early for my long drive 'downtown'..stopping at the little corner gas station. With the nozzle set in the truck I opened the truck door with a plan of sitting in the warmth until the tank was full. Click..the pump shut off. With only a few dollars of gas I knew there was no way my tank was full enough so I tried again..and again..and again.
Great; I have a long drive ahead of me..it's cold..and I get the messed up pump. I asked the person next to me about their pump..it was fine. A police officer was walking to his car asked if I needed help. Explaining my situation to him, he offered to tell the store clerk. The clerk checked everything and sent out the message things were fine on his side. Great; just great.
I restarted that pump a half dozen times before the nozzle decided to spurt a spritz of gas at me; that was the last straw. In hasty aggravation my mind began to calculate the distance to the next convenient gas station, how far I might get on the few dollars I was able to put in, how close I could possibly cut things before I just gave up and cancelled my appointment...and then.
A light went off in my head...you know, the only reason a pump will not let you put gas in your tank is if the tank is full.
Turning on the engine revealed my folly. It seems my sweet husband filled the tank when he arrived home after his overnight shift at work, but didn't tell me.
With a half-hearted laugh I left the station envisioning my truck bursting into flames on the freeway because I overfilled the tank.
Next time, instead of bullying the pump..maybe I should listen to it.