Gettin Gas While Gettin Gas'd Up

Judas A Priest, when did it become so damn difficult to get ten gallons of gasoline? I swear, if they put anymore buttons on them damn gas pumps I’m gonna be forced to repeat the eighth grade. I remember when I was kid we’d stop at Arty Detbarn’s Shell station in town and the whole process of filling your car with gas involved telling Arty to “Fill er up.” That was it! “Fill er up Arty.” Now how difficult is that? Ole Arty’d put the nozzle in after removing the gas cap and then he’d come up and even clean the windows while the gas tank was being filled. It was up close and personal service. It was so up close and personal the ashes on the end of Arty’s cigarette would tumble off and into your lap while you sat there and you got a good look at Arty’s nose hairs and arm pits as he stretched across the window with his squeegee. Arty was as hairy as a Shetland pony he was. Now those were the good ole days. In no time you were gassed up and on your way.

Well the nincompoop that bought ole Arty out recently installed those new fangled gas pumps with all them buttons and screens that you couldn’t see in bright sunlight if your life depended on it. I stopped in yesterday for a fill up and I swear, I’d probably been better off stopping off somewhere else to perform heart surgery or something.

I got out of the car wistfully thinking about the good ole days and Arty’s nose hairs and put my brand new credit card in the slot and swiped it. Nothing happened. I squinted at the screen and finally realized it said I needed to "insert my card again. So I swiped the bugger again and nothing happened again. I could feel my blood pressure a rising a tad. Well I squinted a little harder and realized this pump wanted me to insert the card in the reverse fashion of what every other gas pump on the planet wanted. I swiped the card with feeling and heard the pump go “Beep.” Well, havin gotten a “beep” meant something positive must be goin on so I squinted at the screen again.

Now it wanted my damn zip code. What the hell did it need my zip code for? I wasn’t mailing anything for crying out loud. Realizin nature was a callin I went and quickly punched in my zip code while tappin my foot on the ground to distract myself. Nothin happened “Again.” So I squinted at the magic screen one more time and it said “Hit Enter.” Well for crying out loud! I hit enter and nothing happened. I looked at the frickin magic screen again and it said “Enter Your Zip Code!” Well I slapped the damn thing upside the whatever and stalked into the gas station and low and behold there was this little feller and as they say, “He ain’t from here!” I said “The damn thing ain’t workin! How many times do I have to enter my damn zip code to buy a tank of gas?” Well the little dim wit looked at his dim wit screen and he said in a foreign accent, “There's is nothing on my screen. You must enter your zip code if you want to get gas.” I got a couple of inches away from his face and I said, “BEEN THERE, DONE THAT!” He said, “No you didn’t or it would be on my screen.”

Well I realized I was a getting nowhere with the little nitwit with the accent so I went out and put my zip code in one more time. Now I really had to go to the john and I was literally clackin my knees together. Well after I hit Enter it went “Beep.” Flushed with victory I grabbed the nozzle and hit the Regular button. Nothing happened. Well I squinted at the magic screen again all the while describing it’s mother and it said, “Do you want a car wash?” I started jumpin up and down a screamin “I want gas damn it, I just want frickin gas!” Well that wasn’t workin so I hit the “No” button and it went “Beep!” I whirled around and quickly squeezed the nozzle. Nothin happened. I glared at the screen and it said, “Would you like a donut or a cup of coffee?”

Well the town cop “Dougy McWilliams” eventually let me off with a warning but not before he said, “Merle if I ever get called down here again on account you’re a kickin somebody’s gas pumps and beatin it with your fists and I’ll run your ass in for sure. You got that?” Well I finally got the damn thing to go “Beep” one more time and was putting my hard won gas in her and noticed Dougy coming back out of the station with a frickin donut and a cup of coffee. Hmm, I thought to myself, maybe that stuff works after all. I started wistfully thinkin about Arty’s nose hairs as I put the nozzle back on the pump and then headed up the road to Jake Timmon’s place. I was thinkin maybe I’d talk to him about buyin a horse.

Technology Be Damned!

Jesus A, what’s the world coming to? My brother Cliff talked me into buying a computer last year and cuz he said, “I needed to get with it, the Internet was where “it” was at.” Well, I wasn’t necessarily concerned about ole “It” but I bought one none the less and it indeed changed my life. Ruined it might be more to the point!

I don’t care whether it’s banking, shopping, Social Networking, (Bout as Social as a room full of lard) or surfing (I thought you needed water) them neat sites where them young fillies take off their britches, it just ain’t worth the aggravation. I mean I did think them sites where you could meet the girl of your dreams were neat but then my computer came down with a virus and it cost me $199 to get it cured. Now that right there’s pretty damn stupid if you ask me. When I showed Cliffy what my computer was doing he told me “Merle, you idiot, you got a virus!” Well I felt perfectly fine, but I took the computer down to Doc Keltchen to see if he knew what the hell to do. I’ll never do that again cause he laughed my ass right out of his office and then Cliffy directed me to the place where I’d bought the damn thing in the first place and $199 later it was cured. Stupid if you ask me. My Playboy magazine never got sick.

Then I had another problem with it one day where it just sat there and stared at me. I started hitting buttons and keys and cursing the damn thing and it just sat there. I finally called Cliffy and he said, “Merle, boot the damn thing.” So I did. Did I tell you I had to buy a new computer after that one. I never did hear the end of it from Cliff and he’s always bringing it up whenever the family gets together. Burns my butt listening to him carry on about it. “Then the Nitwit picks it up and kicks it across the room” and everybody laughs. Well, I ain’t laughing that’s for sure. I was out another $900 and I was still faced with the fact that Clifford was my brother and I couldn’t change that.

The other thing that drives me bananas is no matter what you do, where you go on it, ya gotta do a profile and you have to have a password and if the password ain’t to their likin, you gotta do another one. Hell I got so damn confused I started writing the damn stuff down on my kitchen wall with magic markers and crayons so’s I could remember what was on what. I’d write “Banking: Username: “Me ya Dumb asses, Password: Ollie Ollie all in free.” Sears Account: Username: “Merle ya dumb asses, Password: buttscratcher.”

Well, it gets mind boggling at times it does, although I kinda liked the way the kitchen wall started lookin. It was sort of New Age meets The Dead Sea Skrolls if you ask me. As a matter of fact I liked it so much I thought I’d look into maybe getting a patent on the design so I “Gargled” it and sure nuff, I needed to fill out a profile and give them a username and password. I said screw it and went and got me a snoot of Beam instead.

I hate this new technology stuff and I swear I dream at night of the good ole days when a telephone was a telephone and it was stuck to the wall with a dial on it that had clearly marked numbers on it and in those days you didn’t have nitwits driving through ditches cause they were on the phone talking to their nagging wives. I dreamed of the day when you”Mailed” somebody and it had a stamp, not an E, and you actually said something intelligent instead of something that covered your ass. I even dreamed of the day you could go down to the bank and talk to a real person like Arlene and she’d help ya figure out why you were off a couple thousand dollars in your checking account. Never once would Arlene say, “Merle, if you want your account information say one, Merle if you want your interest rate say two, Merle if you’d like to borrow more money say three.” No Arlene’d say “Merle, you poor man, how’d you end up with a negative $2,000?” Of course she’d always be wearin something slightly revealing and smell like a million bucks so it’d help me forget I was over-drawn a couple thousand dollars in the first place. Personal service like that is a thing of the past, it is. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to soldier on. “Beam me up Scotty,” Nice thing about ole Jimmy Beam is you don’t need a damn password to get in it. Naw, ya just sip it till you “PASSOUT.” Ah, the simple life! TECHNOLOGY BE DAMNED!!!!