Petrol Crisis

Posted: February 4, 2015 in One More For Love

petrol crisis

I am afraid.


Not afraid of stationery. Although those staple removers would make a pretty terrifying Halloween monster if they came to life. Kids never think of that. Nor the guys who do Jurassic Park. They could totally do a stapleremoversaurus. Although it wouldn’t have any eyes. It would have to see through it’s teeth. In which case it would have to keep it’s mouth open to see at all times. So maybe it couldn’t bite you. So maybe it’s not that scary.

I am sat in an Esso forecourt. And I am about to face my fear.

Beauty has flown away, and left me with her wheels, and I am loving it. I’ve driven everywhere! Across town! And back the other way! Even to Asda! I’m having a blast, but the grim reality check I always hoped wouldn’t come has jumped on me and slapped me in the face like former housemate Violin trying to stop me from jumping on him and slapping him in the face. The little arrow that happily says ‘GO ON! Keep driving!’ has started to look a little worse for wear. It’s like he’s been drinking, which is fine, because he’s not driving. He’s pointing at a letter E. Which I decide means I need petrol, not drugs.

I sigh.

My Brother once tried to teach me how to do this, and I spilt petrol all over the floor. Somebody probably died! And now i’m alone. It’s just me! Little, brilliant me. I have to do this, and nobody must die.

I pull up to the pump, and am immediately asked a question. Two futures lay before me. If I get the question wrong I have a dead car, a long walk home and a furious fiancée. I don’t know the answer, and Beauty is abroad. I sigh, and do what I always do in these situations.

I phone Portugal.

“Erm… hello?”

Beauty picks up the phone, and my voice gets a little higher-pitched and a bit excited. But now is not the time for romance! I’m blocking the pump! And other people need to pump!

“It’s unleaded, Dan.”

I breathe, and hang up. It’s time to do this! I turn off the car, and step out. And walk up to the petrol tank cover. Which is on the wrong side of the car.

Oh no!

I sigh, and get back into the car, before reversing around the car park so that I somehow end up at the same pump facing the other way. I manage it, and am ace. I could drive to your mom. Unless she lived abroad. Unless there’s a way to drive from Russia to America. There’s got to be! Then you could drive the whole way across! But you’d miss out Indonesia. Which would be a shame. Then you’d be in Outdonesia. Which is almost everywhere I’ve noticed.

I open the door. And fail. Hang on, I’ve pulled in too close to the pump! Gah! I squirm my way through the tiny Big Boots-sized gap and grab the unleaded pump. I lift it out of its’ holster. And fail. Gah! What the heck!? You’re a pump! I need you to barf into my metal death trap! It’s your job! I spot a yellow tag on it.


I’ve seen yellow tags before. Yellow tags that say it’s being transported across Saskatchewan on a greyhound coach.

I smile, before realising that I am on a hill. And therefore not in Saskatchewan. I look closer.

“Not working.”

Oh no!

I malleable myself back into the car and maniacally manoeuvre around the petrol station up to another pump. And this time I’m wise. Learned. I leave loads of space to get out. And get out! Like a pro. I can tell all the other drivers are impressed. They know full well it’s not the first time I’ve got out of a car. I breeze over to the pump. The unleaded pump.

Such a pro.

I pick it up. And see another yellow tag.

Oh no!

I sigh, before clambering back in the car and careering around the garage looking for the pump of my dreams. Yes! I see it! And I pull up.

And leave space to get out.

And grab a yellow-tag-less unleaded petrol pump.

I take a moment, and smile, as I’ve done everything right. I put the key in the little petrol tank cover thing, and it comes off. Hang on… it all comes off!!! Like, a whole chunk of car! My car’s become pulled pork! 

Umm. I love pulled pork.

I smile. I’m gonna smell brilliant when I get home. But hang on, no! How can I drive? My key’s stuck in the chunk! I gamble, and hope that it will all be fine for no particular reason. And that nobody will die. I grab the petrol gun, and breathe.


I insert my little fella into the hole and squeeze. Some numbers start to get excited. I smile, and finish the job before putting my pork chunk back in its’ hole. It fits! And the key comes out! Yes! I walk with pride into the shop and approach the woman behind the till. Here we go! I’ve seen this bit done. I know what to say. She’s going to ask for my pump number! I’m such a pro.


“Pump number 2 is it?”

“Erm, yes. How did you know?”

“I saw you having a whale of a time out there.”


I blush.

“Don’t worry…”

She smiles.

“….Nobody died.”


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