The cost of gas is making friends out of strangers
April 11th, 2008, 7:24 am · Post a Comment · posted by dgrubaugh
The gas crisis is making friends out of strangers.
I discovered that fact Thursday during my weekly fill-up, when complete strangers on both sides of my pump felt compelled to talk to me about the price of fuel. I was at the Conoco station at Glen Carbon Road and Illinois Route 159 in Glen Carbon.
The first to comment was an older man, around 70, wearing a ball cap and coat to keep himself dry in a pouring rain. It had rained the entire day and this was late afternoon, and both of us had enough, even under a protective canopy. He was filling up a pickup truck to my left and was the first to speak.
“Awful, isn’t it?” he said, catching my attention. I immediately knew what he was talking about.
“Yeah,” I shot back as the gauge passed $20. “You’d think we could at least get a free car wash.”
“Or a cup of coffee,” he rejoined.
I smiled and went on with my pumping….. $30, $31, $32.
That day, of course, gas prices hit another record. Hardly a person could believe the signage when they pulled onto the lot. It was almost a joke.
A young woman on my right came around the back of her car and approached mine, just close enough for a casual exchange. She actually had a smile on her face, enjoying a black-hearted moment.
“Three dollars and fifty nine cents,” she pronounced crisply. “Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Yes it is,” I said, noting that she forgot to mention the “point nine.” As in “$3.59.9.”
It was an odd moment. Except for times when I recognize people at the gas station, I almost never speak to anyone. And here, people on both sides of my gas pump greeted me like a friend. I felt like I was on a crowded elevator stuck between floors — when you have no choice but to talk.
That day, as I always do, I used my debit card and hoped I had enough in the account to cover me. The final damage was $56 and change — the most I ever spent to fill up a gas tank.
I rarely carry cash on me anymore, and as I pulled out of the lot I saw a group of young men with collection canisters at the front door. I could read only the word “mission” on their sign, so I figured whatever they were up to had to be worthwhile.
I stopped in the parking lot, rolled down my window and waved one of them over. He presented me with an empty plastic container, into which I plunked 70 cents in coins. Not counting my $56 in fuel, the change was all my car and I had left.
