Minneapolis Adventures

Today at around 2 PM, I left Dinkytown with the intention of going to Borders and working on a journal article I’m proofing for my advisor and finishing up an assignment for my measurement class. I knew I needed gas, since my car was running on fumes, so I decided to stop off at the gas station en route to the freeway.

I waited for ten minutes to gain access to a pump and became irritated. I shot a dirty look at the boy wearing the Deftones t-shirt who didn’t pull all the way forward to the farthest available pump so that I could start filling, too. Now I am left trying to decide whether he was very smart, or very lucky. But I digress.

Rude Boy in Deftones Shirt finally got done paying inside (while I was waiting, I thought in a self-righteous huff, Really, these days, who does that?) and left, and I decided to show off what a good gas station citizen I was. Basking in the glow of smug bitchiness, I pulled all the way forward to the farthest pump. This is how it’s done, people. Watch the one with manners. I swiped my credit card, started the pump, and turned my attention to cleaning my windows.

However, karma’s a bigger bitch than I…and she reared her ugly head.

Upon glancing at the pump to see if my tank was full, I noticed that the mechanism that shuts off the pump when the tank fills had failed. Gas was gushing down the side of my car and onto the pavement. My first reaction was to leap toward the pump, which nearly sent me slipping into the rapidly growing lake of gasoline. I grabbed the pump handle, replaced it, and bolted into the gas station, still holding the squeegee and paper towel.

Me (wide eyed and panicking): “Oh, my God. The gas didn’t stop pumping, and now there’s gas all over my car and all over the sidewalk.”

Furry Lipped Female Station Attendant: “It’s okay, we’ll take care of it.”

Me: “But it’s all over, aren’t the fumes going to combust?”

FLFSA: “No, it’ll be fine.”

Me: “So when I start my car, it won’t explode.”

FLFSA (patiently): “No, all the combustion happens inside your engine.”

Me: “But the gas on the outside of my car…”

FLFSA: “You might want to hose off your car if you get a chance, so it doesn’t take the paint off, but it should be fine. It evaporates pretty quickly.”

Me: “So no explosions. No boom.”

FLFSA (as though I’ve suddenly contracted leprosy): “Uh, no.”

Me: “Okay, thank you.”

And I turned and walked out of the gas station, carrying the squeegee, as if normal people did this every day.

Once in my car, I was instantly arrested by the fumes emanating from my shoes, where I’d stepped in the gasoline. I drove all the way into St. Paul on I-94 with my window rolled down. Once at Borders, I walked up to the café area and promptly ordered a chai and a much-needed piece of cheesecake.

The barista commented that I smelled like gasoline. Imagine that.

Me: "I had a dream that you had the Ebola virus."
IrishTenor: "I had the Ebola virus."
Me: "Yeah, and you gave it to me. I was pissed."
IrishTenor: "Fuck you! I had Ebola."
Me: "No, you were one of the 5% that doesn't get sick and die. I had Ebola."
IrishTenor: "Haha, you had Ebola."

1. Obtain a banana, preferably of at least medium size.
2. Take the banana by the stem and peel straight backward about halfway down the banana.
3. Split the rest of the peel in half, so there are two pieces of peel, one on each side; peel these about halfway down the banana.
4. Take a small bite from the top of the banana.
5. Flip the piece with the stem back over the top.
6. Make penguin noises.
7. Name your penguin (optional).

I was half an hour late meeting Arbusto, his girlfriend B.Jazz, and a few other friends at Axel's Bonfire tonight; I drove into St. Paul from a suburb west of Minneapolis and endured a long hunt for parking once I reached Grand Avenue. I had not seen Minda, RangerGreg, Utah, or B.Jazz for several months. The greeting?

"Hey, I saw your boobs!"

"Me too!"