I hate embarassing myself in public.

I leave the house this morning bright and early, well, after the Hwy 61 traffic has died down some. First stop. The gas station as I've been driving on a quarter tank for several days now.

I swipe my debit card, insert the nozzle and begin pumping. Thirty cents later, the pump cuts off. "What the F?" I ask. I take the nozzle out, put it back in and try again. I get two more cents worth in and it cuts off again.

I went inside where the clerk was less than helpful and insisted that the pumps were working just fine. So I stomp back to the truck, pull forward and try another pump. I'm really not happy about the thirty-two cent charge on my debit card.

Next pump. Same story. I get five cents on it this time. "For Pete's SAKE!" I am considering bashing the pump with the nozzle because I really don't want to have to drive up to the next gas station. And I don't want the people at the bank laughing at my now whopping five cent debit charge.

One thing about gas stations though. There is always a helpful good ole boy around. Good ole boy tries it for me. Then with good ole boy logic and reasoning, he asks the obvious question.

"Is it full already?"

"Can't be," I insist, "it was almost empty last time I drove it."

"Anybody drive it since?" good ole boy asks, displaying once again that now irritating logical thinking.

Yes. Jason did. Yesterday. To the gas station. To get gas for the lawn mower.
Gosh. This is embarassing. I hop in the truck, turn the key. Sure enough, the gauge swings all the way up past "F".

Now I feel like a big old burnt cheesy biscuit.

"I guess he wanted to surprise me," I say to good ole boy.

"Yes ma'am, I guess he did, too."