Gas Pumps

Ya know what pisses me off? Gas pumps.

What gives gas stations the right to take up my precious time with questions I don’t wanna answer? I come here for one purpose and one purpose only, and dats to get gas. Well, that and to use your john if I’ve eaten a few lunch-time hot dogs from dat food truck down on 33rd and Main on Fridays during the summer. What’s that place called? Pawesome Dogs? Nah, dat ain’t it. Hot Diggity Dog! Dats right! Man, they make a mean dog. Dat mustard! Where da hell do they get dat mustard? I’d buy that shit in barrels and put it behind my shed if they’d tell me!

Anyways, when I pull up my truck to a gas pump, alls I want is gas. Petrol. El Gasolino. You catch my drift? And I don’t wanna hafta go inside and pay with cash. I gotta card. and it’s my right as a tax-paying American to use it wherever da hell I wanna use it. And if I don’t have da card wit me, I got my phone and that, whattaya call it ,,, dat Google Pays ting. Ya just hold ya phone up to the pump and bingo bango bongo, it takes some moneys from your account.

If it were only dat simple! No, of course it ain’t, because Mr. Gas Station Owner Guy, oh, look at me, I own a gas station and I can take up everyone’s time… He gotta ask all dees questions!

Is this debit or credit? Da fuck if I know. I just want gas for my work truck, Pal. What does it matta if it’s debit or credit? it’s all comin’ outta da same place! Screw dat!

What’s my ZIP code? Jesus H. Christ, it’s the same thing as the last a-hundred-and-fitty times you asked me! You tellin’ me that that Amazon guy Boozos and that Facebooking guy, Zickershmidt or whatever the hell it is, you tellin’ me they can find out when I pass gas in a Wendy’s parkin’ lot but you can’t remember my goddamn ZIP code? Screw dat!

Do I want a car wash? Come aaaahhhn! If I wanted a freakin’ carwash, trust me, pal, I’d let you know. And if I ain’t lettin’ you know, den I don’t wanna car wash. Capeesh? How many times do I get a carwash compared to all dem other times I come here to just get gas and maybe take a hot dog dump? Can’t you remember dat shit and maybe only ask me every five or eight times or somethin’? Screw dat!

Do I want a receipt? Of course I want a receipt, you numb nuts. You really think I’m gonna drive away from your little establishment without proof I gaht gas here? What, and then get five miles down the road and have my work truck’s engine lock up because you had dirt in the line or some guy did some monkey business wit my tank while I was cleanin’ off my windshield wipas? Screw dat!

So how’s about dis. How’s about I’m gonna use my card — debit. credit, freakin’ Wal-Mart gift card, for all I care — and you’re going to turn that pump on so I can fill my tank and get back to my life. I mean, Jesus H. Christ riding in on a pony! Can I just do something nice and easy in my life for a change? Why you gotta break my balls?

“Pissed Off” Paulie Magnotti has worked heavy construction for the past 35 years. He lives downtown and spends his free time on the stoop with da guys from Da Old Naybahhood. When he and da boys go out, he likes to drive his mint-condition yellow T-top 1981 Camero.


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