If my older brother didn’t beat me to it, I’d convince my father to let me pump the gas. My excitement was with things like the release of suction from the twist of the gas cap, the fumes, the clank of inserting the nozzle, the arc of the pump reset handle, the tension of the pump’s trigger, the speed at which the price indicator outran the volume indicator and then finally the sudden, almost violent shutoff once the tank was full. Finally, after the manual card reader was slid back and forth and my father handed the receipt’s carbon-copied layers back to the attendant, we pulled out and I sat in the back seat breathing in the gasoline smell from my hands.
I am collecting gas station stories. Please share yours by clicking this link.
- David Freund