It was a Sunday, a very hungover Sunday but a decent Sunday nonetheless. It was a day off after all and I don’t think it’s possible to have a bad day off.
A cup of tea in bed to finish my book. A very very unpredictably good ending. A do-gooder trip to supermarkets where I bought presents mostly and a few snacks to feed my ever strengthening throbbing head.
Some sunshine and a good mood. A podcast. A nap. Friends and more naps. Finishing off with a burger to keep the hangover at bay.
I decided to venture out in the evening to see more friends and to ensure that I refrained from consuming the four pack of Magners laying so enticingly in my fridge. I looked at my petrol gauge and oh, great – I was out.
I pulled into the BP station and saw a mass of cars fueling up for the working week ahead and I tried so desperately hard to keep my good, calm tempered mood with me. It was a Sunday after all and who loses it on a peaceful Sunday?
I realised early on that I had chosen a bad time to come to the petrol station but with five miles to empty and on a dark November night, I wasn’t prepared to take the risk.
The pump at which I was waiting had the car parked by it that looked as though it had been there the longest. That’s always a judge that I make upon entering. I then look for the driver who looks the youngest and most able, thus moving faster and leaving first.
Usually I am totally right. This time I was completely wrong.
I had assumed by the mucky looking Ford Fiesta parked up that the owner was of a younger age than the posh cars with personalised number plates that occupied every other pump, and that the driver in question would have more awareness of other people’s time, not thinking he was the most important.
I prayed for each person who exited the building having paid for their petrol to come to the pump I was waiting behind. I was even teased by a man forgetting where his car was and thinking that the car I was parked behind was his – it wasn’t.
Finally after what felt like days of waiting my driver approached. He ambled along as if the place was empty stopping occasionally to check his shoes. Perhaps they were new, perhaps he thought he’d stood in something. I couldn’t care.
He reached the car after a while pausing to let other cars go before him and unlocked the car. Finally, I thought, as he let yet another car go before him. Yes, despite having legs to run forward, he decided to retreat back.
He opened the door which again took minutes rather than seconds (please tell me why?!) and proceeded to check his phone, straighten his hairstyle, eat his sandwich, probably cook a bloody roast dinner, do anything before putting his seat belt on.
I was beginning to lose my strength.
He then sat for another few minutes as if he were waiting for the place to empty before pulling off.
He was finally gone. I was furious. My calm, good mood was destroyed.
Wanted: ignorant human behavior. Found: at petrol stations across the UK.