Haste Makes Waste

I apologize for not having posted much this week. Three kids at three different schools makes for three evenings at concerts and much to do. I will pay penance for it by telling what must be the most embarrassing story anyone could tell.

One of the big hassles during winter in Alaska is filling the gas tank. Especially that of a Suburban, which takes half an hour to fill. I usually bring a crossword along while I wait on it. Filling up is a cold business that involves hands on frozen metal and scurrying in the wind and snow to the office to pay. Once, years ago, I had a friend who filled up at the local gas station, ran inside to pay, and then quickly got back into her car to get warm and drove away without removing the nozzle from her tank. The nozzle ripped off and the hose snaked all around while spilling gas all over the ground. I think she had to pay for $15 or so in gas.

A few months later I sat in my Suburban with my mother and, while we waited for the tank to fill, I told her the story of the broken nozzle. It was such a funny story. Then I ran inside to pay, and ran out quickly to jump in my car and try to get warm. And then, not 3 minutes after telling the story, I drove away with the nozzle still in my gas tank. I heard a loud pop and stopped, completely mystified about what the sound was. Luckily, after my friend's incident, the gas station had replaced the old nozzles with a special kind that could pop off without the gas spilling out everywhere. That's it. My horrific display of idiocy.