My husband is probably the best husband/father/overall man in general in the entire world... at least I think so, of course. I adore him for more than just a few reasons, but one attribute he has that can be quite rare in the male species is his thoughtfulness. For one thing, unless he has been traveling for an extended period of time or crazy busy, I never have to worry about filling the gas tank. This is probably the reason why I can never, ever seem to find the little lever that pops the gas cap door...
Cue yesterday.
On the way to pick up my daughter from school I glanced at the dashboard and lo and behold, that little menacing arm was hovering just above the E. The first thing that comes to my mind? Seinfeld. You know the episode. The one where Kramer is so gung ho to keep driving on fumes. I become inspired to see if I can make it to North Andover and back to North Reading to pick up my husband and then see if we can then make it on fumes to the nearest gas station. Immediately I have visions of myself with my hazards on with my two children strapped in back and frantically trying to explain the situation to my husband over the phone or to the police officer who is obliged to come and wave traffic around the stupid woman who was inspired by Kramer from Seinfeld to see JUST how far she could go. Plan B? Stop for gas on the way after picking up my daughter. That would be the most prudent.
After picking the girl up, I drive from whence I have come and head to the full service gas station. My heart quickens in my chest with a premonition that somehow, someway, I am going to end up looking stupid. I do not fail to deliver on this.
As I pull in, I am grateful I don't have to maneuver around any other cars that are facing the wrong direction on the wrong side of the pumps. My driving skill set is not that great. I uneventfully pull up on the correct side, roll down the window, turn off the car, grab my wallet, and breathe a sigh of relief. The young attendant guy arrives at my window and politely asks me what I would like and I pretend as if I do this all the time as I nonchalantly say what I hear on tv, "Fill it up, please?" and he turns away. In a second he is peeping at me through the window again. "Would you open the gas tank?" "Sure," I say. And now my heart starts thumping. I don't know where the lever is. "Um, I have to find the lever. Hold on a second?" I don't dare look at his face as I am sure that mine is burning bright pink. I see something that looks vaguely familiar, I pull on it. The hood pops. I back up my seat and try to look under the wheel for another lever of some kind. He patiently stands next to the door as I open it and proceed to search. "Why don't you let me take a look for you," he says. Who says chivalry is dead? Either that, or I was just holding him up. With an instant, "Here it is!" and a click, he has it open and the pump going. And so I mumble something about probably getting the hood back down. I move to the front of the car and press on the hood. Nothing. I look for something that resembles the crack of it so I can get my fingers underneath and with my nails I try to just lift whatever it is I can get them under. Again, nothing. I hear the attendant's voice yet again, "Do you know how to do that?" No use in lying and saving face now. I look up at him and smile, "Nope!" With a smirk and a chuckle he says he can also take care of that for me. Now there is nothing left for me to do but to climb back into the car and pray for it to be five minutes into the future so I can escape my embarrassment. The pump stops, he arrives with my card, I sign and and sigh in relief and off I go. I probably should have tipped him or something. Next time? What would Kramer do? Plan A it is!
As I pulled away, I couldn't help but laugh as I could almost hear the screams of feminists the world over sensing the incompetence of some girly girl somewhere who needs so much help for such a small and seemingly simple task as re-filling a gas tank. When I told the tale to my husband, all I got was a chuckle, a shake of the head and an, "I love you." All in a day's work.
