As I've mentioned here before, I've been missing America® so much that, coming home, I am ready --happy, even-- to accept her as a package deal, faults, fats and all. But that doesn't mean I won't enjoy recounting my encounters with her undesirables.
Take, for example, my recent exchange with a gas station attendant in Montrose...

My car has been sitting in my parents' garage, mostly unused, since I left. The cold weather killed all the pressure in its tires. So on my first day home, I went to Shell to remedy the problem before driving around for the rest of the day. The machine read,
75¢ -- quarters only for three minutes of air.
I dropped in the money and pressed the big button, but nothing happened. Then I saw the big stripe across the top of the machine's face:
Air Free to Our Customers!
There was no change return button. No lever. Nothing even worth kicking, really. I decided to read up on the rest of it before making any more mistakes. At the bottom, I found:
Air Free to Children Under 16. See Cashier.
What made me maddest about being duped by the machine's sadistic mindgame was that I had already entered the "convenience" store (a term applied loosely at most gas stations) to ask if either of the two belugas working behind the counter had a sense for an average cold weather tire pressure for a small car like my own. The older of the two women, a white tent with rolls of fat hanging from the backs of her arms that looked like loaded billiard pockets, told me the number was on the tire itself.
So I had gone back outside and put in my quarters. I'm not blaming her for my failure to read the sign's three conflicting messages, but maybe she should have mentioned "Heya, no worries, air's free. Oh, and while I'm at it, why don't I activate it with this button behind the counter so you don't waste your time freezing your ass off out there, confused and hungry and alone?"
At this point, I had already asked a stupid question, which greatly compromised my position to beat them about the face and neck with a snow brush for having a confusing sign on their pump.
I went back inside and asked anyway, this time to the younger girl, a behemoth with a Queen Latifah look, if only Queen Latifah made more appearances in grease-stained Shell uniforms and was totally full of horseshit.
"I put 75¢ in the air machine and nothing happened. Then I noticed the sign that says air's free. What's the...
um... hmm."
"Oh, yea issfree btchoo gotsta aks us ta turnit awn. I'll press tha button anden it'll run."
"I see. Bummer about the 75¢."
"Aw yeah, but it goes ta charity."
::beat:: "Oh, that's cool." ::pause:: "Just curious -- what charity?"
"Um, you ever hear about that lady who got her face blowed off while she was fillin' up her tires?"
"Uh... no."
"Aw yeah, happened few years back, I guesshe juss put too much in 'em, like, she didn't know how much you were supposed ta put in and it esploded iner face. They hadda giver a whole lotta money, so, it goes to that."
I decided then that, even if I did ask why a charity fund would be set up to pay a civil settlement in quarters, I wouldn't get a very satisfying answer, and it'd just be more typing when I got home and blogged about it.
Besides, I had business to attend to outside.
I filled up my first tire, which had just over ten pounds per square inch, to 42 PSI. It's maximum is 44 PSI. Feel free to tell me if I did a bad thing.
I tried to repeat that on the tire behind it, which was just as low, but the machine shut off. I pressed the button again. Nothing.
Back inside the store, I asked for the machine to be reactivated. The white whale with the pool pocket arms raised her eyebrows. "Agyein?"
"Yes, please."
She pressed the button directly in front of her like I was asking her to fill the tires herself, rotate them and make me a sandwich.
I went back outside and filled the second tire. By the time I got to the third, the machine shut off. I pressed the button again. Nothing.
Back inside the store, I asked for the machine to be reactivated. The white whale with the pool pocket arms raised her eyebrows. "Agyein?"
"Yes, please."
She pressed the button directly in front of her like I was asking her to fill the tires herself, rotate them and make me a sandwich.
I went back outside and filled the third tire. By the time I got to the fourth, the machine shut off. I pressed the button again. Nothing.
Back inside the store, I asked for the machine to be reactivated. The white whale with the pool pocket arms raised her eyebrows. "Agyein?"
"Yes, please."
She pressed the button directly in front of her like I was asking her to fill the tires herself, rotate them and make me a sandwich.
I went back outside and filled the fourth tire, but tripped over the hose I had left lying across my hood, causing it to retreat into the machine, dragging the metal nozzle across the full width of my hood and leaving a thin, white scratch behind it. I couldn't believe my fortune. Clearly I had reached the lightning round.
But I couldn't focus on that because my fingers, which had been too clumsy for the job with my mittens on, were starting to feel the earliest effects of frostbite. I finished the last tire, cursing the throbbing pain and fumbling to recap the tire's nozzle through their numbness.
When I had finished and driven off in my warm car, the heat burned, and for the next ten minutes, it felt like someone was smashing the bones with a hammer on the steering wheel.
Other than that, my visit's been awesome. Today I will enjoy Robek's and Chipotle. Life is better than most people realize and me, I'm not complaining about anything.
Labels: akron, comic, transportation