I Drive Me Crazy

We all have our ways of dealing with stress. Some people work out. Some people paint. Others drink. (Not that I'm saying any one particular coping mechanism on that list stands out to me ...)

We all also have our ways of not dealing with stress -- the little idiosyncrasies and quirks that arise when there's a bit too much on our plates and our subconscious rears up in revolt. Some people scream, Some people cry. I forget how to pump gas.

I know, I know, you're probably thinking that that sounds absolutely crazy. But, there's something about the ability to complete day-to-day, mundane tasks that goes completely out the window when I'm consumed by other matters or living too much in my head.

In a situation where others might squeeze a stress ball or indulge in an ice cream Sunday, I find myself absolutely baffled by the idea of choosing an Octane rating.

In high school, when I was struggling with AP Calculus and SAT prep, I went to fill-up at the gas station across the street and just couldn't get the pump to work. I told the gas station attendant that his pump was broken and that he might want to check on that ASAP.

"The pump isn't broken," he said.

"Yeah, it is," I said. "Why else wouldn't I be able to get gas? I'm not an idiot, you know."

The only trouble was that in that situation, I was being an idiot. After fuming back to my car, I realized I hadn't lifted the lever that triggers gas flow at the pump.

I have probably been spoken to through the intercom at the pump more than any other human being on earth. That magical, difficult-to-comprehend voice has informed me that I forgot to pay at a pre-pay (overwhelmed by errands), do not have a Diesel engine (dressing down from the boss) and, during an ill-fated trip to New Jersey, that it was illegal to pump one's own gas in that state (relationship trouble). 

No matter how well I think I'm handling life, the gas station is my ultimate test: Can I fill the tank without threatening the attendant or banging my head against the steering wheel? Will I find myself entangled in the gas hose? Will I be able to reward myself with a single bag of Cheetos?

Luckily, in these days of working from home, I'm operating on far fewer tanks of gas per month. Otherwise, between the bills and my concerns for the characters of General Hospital, there could be trouble.