Tag Archives: fuel

Forgot to Pump

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It was early in my brief career as a clerk in a supermarket fuel center (aka gas station), and the day had started early. (I’d crawled out of bed at 4am and clocked in to work before 5:45.) The place had been busy since the sun came up, and my brain was already on overload when the woman stepped up to the kiosk window. I asked how I could help her, and she told me pump 6 was authorized to pump $60 worth of gas.

At first I thought she was reading the numbers above the pump’s communication screen. The very top number told how much money the previous customer had spent at the pump. The second number showed how many gallons of fuel the previous customer had pumped. Many, many customers thought the presence of those numbers meant there was a problem with the pump and they wouldn’t be able to get their fuel there. They didn’t realize that once a payment had been made to me in the kiosk or a card inserted at the pump and the fuel nozzle lifted, those numbers would zero out and the pumping could begin.

I assumed the woman had been looking at the very top number, the amount the previous customer had spent. (When you assume, my late father would have said, you make an ass of u and me.) I told her when she lifted the nozzle, the $60 would zero out and she could begin pumping.

She shook her head at me. When she got out of her car, the screen said $60. She didn’t put in $60. She was going to pay with her credit card, but she didn’t want to put her card in if someone else’s money was already on the pump.

Slowly it dawned on my poor tired brain that the woman wasn’t talking about the uppermost number on the pump. She was talking about the communication screen. The communication screen said that someone had paid $60 on pump 6.

I looked over at my POS (point-of-sale) system. The screen showed me the activity on every pump in the fuel center. I could tell who had prepaid by giving me cash or letting me run a credit or debit card. I could tell who had paid at the pump. I could see who was pumping gas and who had yet to start pumping. Sure enough, pump 6 had been authorized for $60.

You didn’t pay me $60? I asked the woman. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if I had ever seen her before, much less if she had stood before me a few minutes ago and handed me $60. She shook her head no.

You didn’t already use your card on pump 6?  I asked her. I certainly didn’t want her coming back in five minutes telling me she had paid twice and wanting money back.

She shook her head no again. She repeated that she hadn’t put her card into the pump because she thought someone else had already paid $60 for that pump and she didn’t want to mess anything up.

I thanked her for being honest. It would have been so easy for her to simply put that $60 worth of gas in her tank. No one would have known…but her.

I’ll clear that out for you, I told her. I reached over and went through the procedure to refund the $60 on pump 6. I didn’t take any money out of the drawer because I didn’t know exactly what procedure to follow in such a situation. I figured I would come up with something before my shift was over.

When my screen showed pump 6 was available, I told the woman she was all set to go and thanked her again for her honesty.

The customers continued to line up and hand me money and credit cards. I authorized pumps and sold cigarettes and told people how many reward points they had. I’d forgotten about the $60 on pump 6 until a frantic-looking man stood before me.

I was here about half an hour ago, he told me. He was all but panting. I gave you $60 for pump 6, then went out there and put the nozzle in my truck. I thought it had pumped, but it didn’t pump, and I left without my gas.

I totally believed his story. He seemed genuinely upset and out of breath, and he knew what pump the money had been left on and how much money it was. I didn’t see how it could be a scam of some kind.

You’re really lucky, I told the guy. An honest woman told me about the $60 still on the pump. She could have just used the money, and I would have never known, but she told me about it. Then I told him to pull into whatever pump he wanted, then to let me know what pump he was on so I could authorize it for $60.

I don’t know if he realized how lucky he was. If that lady had used his $60 then he had come in later with some sob story about how he had forgotten to pump his gas, I would have thought, sure, right and sent him on his way. If he had insisted, I probably would have called a manager to handle the situation.

Who forgets to pump their gas? I wondered aloud when I related this story. Apparently it happens. It happened to this guy, and it happened to a friend of mine. She said she was flustered, had been getting repeated phone calls from a needy friend. She said she paid $20 for gas, got into her car, and drove away. When she realized what had happened she went back to the fuel center but found someone had already pumped her fuel. The person in the kiosk was not trusting and kind and told her she was out of luck; there was nothing he could do.

Moral of the story: If you forget to pump your gas, hope the person who rolls in after you is honest. 

Diesel: A Cautionary Tale

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The family of four (Mom, Dad, and two tween boys) approached me at the front of the parking lot.

Where’s the closest gas station? the man asked me.

We get this question a lot in the parking lot, so I knew the answer.

The closest gas station is twenty-five miles that way, I said, pointing. If you’re going that way, I said, pointing in the opposite direction, the closest gas station is about thirty-five miles.

I’m not going to make it thirty-five miles, the man said.

Well, you’ll have to go that way, I said, pointing again. I explained where he’d have to turn and told him about the one pump behind the community’s general store.

So they have diesel? the man asked me.

Diesel? Who’d said anything about diesel?

blur, dusk, eveningI suppose when the man said gas station, he’d been envisioning a full-service, multi-pump establishment with a convenience store and restrooms, where, of course, diesel would be available. I was telling him about what was actually there: one gas pump behind a little store selling ice and a few food items.

I don’t think they have diesel, I said. I think they only have regular unleaded.

Should we call Triple A? the woman asked the man. Will they even come out here?

I think Triple A will go anywhere on pavement, I told them. The nearest pay phone is about eight miles away.

The woman lifted her cell phone and showed it to me while slightly smirking, as if I were an idiot.

Most people don’t get cell service out here, I said.

Do you have a signal? the man asked her hopefully.

The woman deflated like a balloon the morning after a birthday party. I don’t know, she said.

She determined she had no signal.

What should we do? they asked each other.

I had no more information to offer. I’d told them where the nearest gas was. (Unfortunately, they didn’t need gas.)  I’d told them where to find the nearest pay phone. There was nothing more I could do.

You’re already here, I told them. It’s early in the day. You might as well walk the trail.

A truck was approaching the parking lot’s exit. The driver of the truck spoke to the main in need of diesel. The man in need explained his predicament. He asked the driver of the truck if he had a full fuel tank. He told the driver he had a siphon. The driver agreed to let the man in need siphon some diesel from his tank.

Oh thank God! the woman exclaimed, but she sounded more like someone who wanted attention than like someone who was grateful for the blessing the Lord had sent.

The man in need walked back to his truck. The driver followed in the truck with the tank full of diesel.

The woman and the kids stayed up front near me.

He’s camped next to us, the woman told me. We don’t even know him.

The woman really wanted my attention.

It’s kind of him, I said flatly. I was tired and didn’t want to chitchat.

The woman and kids crossed the road to walk the trail.

The siphoning must have gone well, because later I saw the family drive away in their truck.

They must have been city people. City people are accustomed to finding a gas station every few blocks. It’s not like that in these mountains. People around here live in communities with no gas (and/or diesel) available for purchase. The nearest gas station may be twenty-five, thirty, forty miles away.

I once read a book aimed at solo women travelers. One suggestion the book gave was to never let the fuel in one’s vehicle to go below a quarter of a tank. It’s good advice that I take to heart. I also recommend folks not take off into remote areas without knowing how much fuel they have, how far that fuel can take them, and the distance to the next place where they can buy fuel. There’s not always going to be a Good Samaritan in the parking lot or a multi-pump gas station just down the road.

Photo courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/blur-dusk-evening-gas-station-399635/.