Gas Pumps, Frozen yogurt. and Perspective.

Jersey Girls Don’t Pump Gas…
And tonight, my roommates found out why.

I learned to pump gas at the ripe age of 22. This occurred about 3 weeks ago here in Cali. It was a very big moment in my life, especially after living in PA for 4 years and never ONCE pumping my own gas.

To really put my stubbornness about pumping gas into perspective, I have this favorite tale to tell: Back in the day when I got my license, my dad gave me an Exxon gas card. Between my dad being awesome and living in NJ, I was lucky enough to never have to worry about paying for or pumping gas. Then came college. My senior year I lived off campus and had to commute to class and clinical- some of which were pretty far away- so I was allowed to take a car to school. In PA. Where girls pump gas. By themselves. In August, with my Exxon card in hand, I ventured off to school with the hopes of finding a full-service gas station. Well, it was bittersweet, my friends. I did in fact find a full-service gas station just moments from my house, but it wasn’t an Exxon station. I also found an Exxon station even closer to my house, but it was all self-serve. The dilemma: Use my Exxon card and learn to pump gas, or pay for the gas myself and have somebody else pump it. Yeah, I was that stubborn.

ANYWAYS, it was also about three weeks ago that two of my roommates and I took a drive to the beach to miss the sunset. Yeah, we were stoked about seeing the sunset over the ocean for the first time ever! and just missed it. But as the saying goes, when one door closes another door opens- and that door was to Yogurt Escape. Sigh. Where to begin? It is impossible to portray the amazingness of these self-serve, all the free samples you want frozen yogurt joints in California, but to try and get my point across, my roommates and I went to Yogurt Escape every other day for about 2 weeks, without fail. And then I was introduced by a dear friend of mine to Yogurt Land. And then my roommates and I discovered YoGart. And then Fiji Yogurt. And then Fiji Yogurt #2 (the better one). Needless to say, in the past month we have eaten a lot of frozen yogurt. Each yogurt place hands out frequent buyer cards, where once you buy 9 yogurts you get 1 free. We haven’t gotten a free one yet because each time we get close, like my 8 punches at Yogurt Escape, we find a better place and ditch the first. LIFE.

Today, September 30th, 2009, I declared that I wanted to get my LAST frozen yogurt ever. (I know that’s a lie- but I need an ultimate frozen yogurt intervention- total detox. Like now…) All 5 of my roommates are great, but the 3 girls might just be my soul mates. I just need to think about frozen yogurt and I swear the 4 of us are already in the car halfway to the nearest joint, as it happened tonight. It was delicious…and it was the last.

It was so good, but we had little time to savor the moment. Each Wednesday night all 6 of us sit down together to watch the show Glee- it’s a hands down house favorite. And with our frozen yogurt adventure it was almost a house emergency- especially since we needed to fill the Bu (our Chevy Malibu) with gas. I quickly drove two of my roommates back to the house (why should all 4 of us suffer when only 2 of us can?) and went for gas.


I found this nifty gas station with gas less than $3/gallon- victory! The station was hoppin- all but one of the 8-10 pumps were being used and other random people were all over the place. I pull up to the open pump and I swipe my card and it says ‘go see cashier.” The cashier asked me to give her an amount so she can turn on my pump. I don’t know how much it costs to fill up the Bu and so I tell her I’ll switch pumps when one opens up. I switch pumps. Swipe card. Go see cashier. NO! My roommate swipes her credit card for kicks- IT WORKS! We fill the tank. I hear a beep (signaling our little transaction is complete!) I pull the nozzle out. The beep wasn’t for us? There was no beep? The pump malfunctioned? Whatever it was, I got showered in gas. It was the opposite of awesome. I mean, it was hilarious- straight from the movie Zoolander- but as they say in Zoolander, just because I have chiseled abs and stunning features it doesn’t mean that I too can’t not die in a freak gasoline incident! Full from frozen yogurt and wet and gross from my little gasoline incident, my roommate and I got back into the car, prayed that it didn’t blow up when we started it, then headed home.

After about 12 seconds of silence the two of us broke out laughing- did that just really happen!?!!? Truthfully I was feeling overwhelmed and inadequate, but my sense of humor got the better of me. What else was there to do but laugh? 8-10 carloads of people were going to go home that night with an awesome story to tell: “this crazy girl at the gas station pulled the nozzle out and had gas spraying everywhere- it was wild! She just kinda hopped around in place screaming ‘what happened? What do I do?’ and her friend just watched in horror!”

Welp, upon my return to our house I jumped in the shower, threw my clothes in the laundry and cleaned up the kitchen. I was in a semi-crabby mood and didn’t feel like interacting with my roommates- and cleaning up dinner was the perfect excuse to get away. In my clean-up I found some things that belonged in the recycling can at the end of our driveway, but as I started outside I realized that there was a man with a cart digging through our garbage. He was looking for plastic bottles and other things he could return to the local recycling center for a small refund.

My heart ached. Tonight night I was mad because I was fat. I was mad because I got more frozen yogurt. I was mad because I spilled (understatement) the gas at the station. I was mad because I missed a part of a TV show. I was mad because there were still unwashed dishes from our dinner.

Tonight the man outside walked from street to street digging through garbage can after garbage can so he could have a small piece of what I have each day. Perspective, man.