What a GAS!
JEREMY’S GOT NOWHERE TO RUN AFTER A PUMP PROBLEM AT THE SERVICE STATION
Last week, I was driving home from out west. I was outside my Auckland neighbourhood and outside my comfort zone.
The streets were foreign, the shops were different and the westies had pegged me as an out-of-towner. It was a dog-eat-dog town and I was a Chihuahua.
The air was thick with tension and aggression.
My fuel light went on. Not good. I didn’t want to risk running out of gas on the motorway and was weighing my options when a friendly Mobil “On The Run” sign greeted me.
I sighed with relief, pulled in and aimed the car at the first row of pumps. Just then a young bogan in a beaten up black Holden* cut in front of me** and stole my bowser.
The air got thicker with tension. I stayed cool and calm. I navigated to a different pump, killed the engine and stepped from the car.
Then I stepped back in to my car, reversed out and drove back in to get the fuel cap on the right side. Cool.
I was so distracted by the simmering tension*** that I absent-mindedly grabbed a nozzle and started filling up.
After a quick look under the bonnet to check the engine was still there, I strolled back to the pump and realised what I had done: My car was diesel and I had just filled it with petrol.
I knew enough not to start my vehicle and damage it. I rushed inside the service station and told the attendant, “I just put petrol in my diesel car”, trying to make it sound like it was someone else’s fault.
With as little smirk as possible, he proffered me the business card of Suckem Dry. Yeah, right. I wagered he was getting a cut of Mr Suckem Dry’s business, preying on the naïve.
Well, I wasn’t going to be taken in. I decided instead to call an association I belonged to that helped people with automobile issues.
After 45 minutes enjoying the ambience and limitless snack food of the now ironically named “On
The Run”, I heard back from my association.
It turns out their sucker was going to be an hour longer and $100 dearer than Suckem Dry.
Suckem Dry turned out to be thoroughly professional, very nice and very reasonable.
Getting petrol out of an idiot’s diesel is a bit more complicated than jamming a hose in the hole and sucking. Seems you need to take 90% of the car apart to access the reserve tank and drain that also.
Mr Dry left me with a pristine tank, a hearty handshake and a look in his eye that suggested he’d probably see me again.
I filled up with diesel, paid for both that and the petrol and went on my way, several hundred dollars lighter and a whole lot more experienced.
As I drove away, I’m sure I heard the faint laughter of the locals.
* Actually a young woman in a well-maintained Toyota Yaris ** Was already in front of me *** Indifference