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It wasn’t like riding a bike…

When we first got back in America, I was a little nervous to drive.  I know this is slightly irrational considering that I have driven for 16 years before the one year that I haven’t driven, but it is what it is.  I overcame it when my desire to shop grew bigger than said fear.

I was also a little nervous about filling the gas tank.  I didn’t know which side the tank was on, so for fear of embarrassing myself by choosing the wrong side (I never was very good at dragging the gas gun over the car without tripping over something or it not reaching…), I drove past the gas station to a parking lot, parked, got out to see where the door thingy was, got back in, and returned to the gas pumps.  I pulled up, heart racing a little, but not too bad since it wasn’t super crowded.  I grabbed my credit card, got out, and went to the little magic door.  It truly was magic for there was no way to get in it.  Back to the drivers seat I went.  While I was in there searching for a magic button, someone pulled up behind me to wait their turn for my pump.

Oh dear.  Where is that little button?!!

Finally, admitting defeat, I swallowed my embarrassment and asked the man at the pump ahead of me if he perhaps knew where little magic buttons in big fancy cars hid.  I tried to explain to him that this wasn’t my car, but you know me…my mouth kept going.  So, I admitted I haven’t pumped gas in over a year, that I was very nervous, also that I haven’t been living in this country…words just kept spewing from my mouth and I had no ability to stop them.

Finally, my eyes landed on some suspicious looking buttons on the door.  I cried in excitement (to the very nice stranger helping me), “there!!  try those!!”.

POP!  Up went the trunk.  Well, it’s not that one.  One more to try…

YES!!!!  The magic door flew open!  We were both laughing by this point, and the ladies in line behind me gave up that they would get gas in this century and left.   One hurdle down, it should be downhill from there.  Right?

Yeah.  You’d think.

When the machine asked me for my zip code, I just entered a random one.

Don’t judge me.

Of course, it didn’t work, and I had to start all over.  It was then that I remembered the zip code had to actually match the card I was using.  Then the machine told me to lift the lever (there was no lever!) and choose a grade.  Funny thing is, the nozzle was already in the car.  I tried to lift the lever that wasn’t there.  I tried to choose a grade.  Nothing was working.  I put the nozzle back and took it out again, hoping that it wouldn’t start the whole process over, because if it did, I was leaving.  This is a man’s job.  Sheesh.

Lucky for us, the machine worked, the car was filled, no gas spilled, and I felt accomplished.  I also needed a nap after all the excitement.

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