PUMPING GAS -- DOWN ONE

As soon as the funeral party had left, I had my first challenge in this new life--pumping gas. My husband always took care of the cars. That was his bailiwick and I don't think he ever wanted me messing around with a gas pump. And where are the old fashioned "service stations?" They don't exist anymore, at least where I live. Those stations served a good purpose. They furnished countless high school boys with their first jobs -- cheerful attandants who would wash your windows, check the tires, and look under the hood. I don't know why we had to do away with all that, but I do know that I am not an appropriate person to service a car.

But I had to start and start right away. Several friends gave me lessons and it didn't seem so hard - just put the nozzle in the tank and pay. I boldly put my credit card and my Safeway card in the pump, put the hose in the proper recepticle and pulled it out in triumph. Unfortunately I was still pressing on the lever or whatever it was and the gas was still going through the hose. It spewed out in a geyser all over the tarmac, and all over me. The attendant(if that is what you call him,) came out of his little locked kiosk and he was upset. I think it was because he had to clean up the gasoline on the tarmac. I reeked of gas and when I went on to the dentist for my appointment, the receptioist said I should go home and shower and change clothes, because I was also smelling up the dentists office. Needless to say I did not return that day. My clothes still smell of gasoline, and are very stiff. I determined I would try again, because what can you do?