One thing about Oregon that amazes me is that the gas stations provide a person to pump gas for you. What?
Of course- I, bred, born and raised as a Montanan, find this odd. People in Montana seem to enjoy doing things for themselves and we certainly don't like someone on or around our rig. I don't know about you, but handing a total stranger my cash or card out of a car window doesn't seem like the most safe or legit transaction. In Montana, a man would find nothing sexier than a woman leaning up against her vehicle waiting for the pump to fill to an even $30...don't even get me started on windshield washing either.
As Queen of Awkward Encounters, Oregon gas stations provide a perfect venue. The first time I went to gas, I panicked. What if I rolled down the wrong window? Or ran over his foot? What if I pulled in the wrong way? Told him the wrong grade? Luckily, none of the above occured, however, I was not in the clear.
I handed my card to a younger man (we'll call him Jose) and told him to fill it up. Okay, not so bad. He did his thing and while it was filling he poked his head in my window. He said "You know, when you get a fill up you get a free fountain soda". Hmmm, I thought, I did have a 6.5 hour drive ahead of me, a free soda wouldn't be a bad idea. I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to open the door but Jose stopped me. "Oh no, I will go get it for you, what kind would you like?" I thought this was odd, I looked at the gas station sign to make sure I wasn't at a Sonic. "Um, diet coke/pepsi I guess" I said. Jose ran into the store and came out with the 64 oz. diet pepsi. At this point I thought wow, this whole gas pumping gig isn't too bad after all.
Then it all changed.
I thanked Jose, rebuckled my seat belt and turned on the engine, ready to depart. But Jose, knocked on my window- what was wrong? Was I not supposed to tur on the engine? Was my car about to explode? Nope, Jose wanted to know more about me and Montana (My license plates revealed my home planet). I did the usual MT related banter (No, I don't live on a farm, yes, there are mountains where I am from, and I have never rode a horse before...you know, the important stuff). I told him I was on my way there to signal the end of our encounter, so Jose ditched all planned efforts and went for the kill. "So can I have you number?" He asked. I have to give it to Jose, the man did fetch me a beverage and cleaned my windshield...but I kind of have a thing called a boyfriend and I don't think he'd appreciate me bringing home the guy who pumps my gas. So I apologized to Jose and sped off to Montana, a place where a lady can pump her own gas :)
Of course- I, bred, born and raised as a Montanan, find this odd. People in Montana seem to enjoy doing things for themselves and we certainly don't like someone on or around our rig. I don't know about you, but handing a total stranger my cash or card out of a car window doesn't seem like the most safe or legit transaction. In Montana, a man would find nothing sexier than a woman leaning up against her vehicle waiting for the pump to fill to an even $30...don't even get me started on windshield washing either.
As Queen of Awkward Encounters, Oregon gas stations provide a perfect venue. The first time I went to gas, I panicked. What if I rolled down the wrong window? Or ran over his foot? What if I pulled in the wrong way? Told him the wrong grade? Luckily, none of the above occured, however, I was not in the clear.
I handed my card to a younger man (we'll call him Jose) and told him to fill it up. Okay, not so bad. He did his thing and while it was filling he poked his head in my window. He said "You know, when you get a fill up you get a free fountain soda". Hmmm, I thought, I did have a 6.5 hour drive ahead of me, a free soda wouldn't be a bad idea. I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to open the door but Jose stopped me. "Oh no, I will go get it for you, what kind would you like?" I thought this was odd, I looked at the gas station sign to make sure I wasn't at a Sonic. "Um, diet coke/pepsi I guess" I said. Jose ran into the store and came out with the 64 oz. diet pepsi. At this point I thought wow, this whole gas pumping gig isn't too bad after all.
Then it all changed.
I thanked Jose, rebuckled my seat belt and turned on the engine, ready to depart. But Jose, knocked on my window- what was wrong? Was I not supposed to tur on the engine? Was my car about to explode? Nope, Jose wanted to know more about me and Montana (My license plates revealed my home planet). I did the usual MT related banter (No, I don't live on a farm, yes, there are mountains where I am from, and I have never rode a horse before...you know, the important stuff). I told him I was on my way there to signal the end of our encounter, so Jose ditched all planned efforts and went for the kill. "So can I have you number?" He asked. I have to give it to Jose, the man did fetch me a beverage and cleaned my windshield...but I kind of have a thing called a boyfriend and I don't think he'd appreciate me bringing home the guy who pumps my gas. So I apologized to Jose and sped off to Montana, a place where a lady can pump her own gas :)
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