I was determined - DETERMINED! - to get to Multnomah Falls this time.
Didn't happen.
I was gonna stop at Costco on my way down, get some granola bars and such.
Had to get fuel first. Decided to clean the tree sap off my windows while I was at it.
I joked around with the guy at the next pump, who noted that a tree must not like me very much. No, it doesn't, I agreed, and I kept on squeegee-ing. A truck pulled up in his place, idled a bit, then turned off.
About 30 seconds later, as I was about to finish cleaning my windows, a pudgy, balding, middle-aged man with a too-small T-shirt stretched inadequately across his paunch got out of his truck, cleared his throat and said:
"Mwah mwah, mwah mwah mwah, mwah mway mwah mwah? Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah."
Thinking he had said something along the lines of what the previous guy had said, I smiled and said I was sorry, I hadn't heard him.
"I said, 'excuse me, young lady, you about finished there? I didn't realize this was a car wash.' You're hoggin' the diesel pump."
And then he stood there on the raised ledge of his truck, smirking at me, like he'd just said the most clever thing in the world.
My knee-jerk reaction was to tell him to STFU and wait his effing turn.
But I'm working on not giving in to knee-jerk reactions. Not right away, at least.
Holding the dripping, sappy squeegee beside me, I simply said: "Huh. I wasn't aware that you were in charge of the gas station."
I know. Very third-grade of me.
Smirk. Simpering sigh.
"I'm not in charge of the gas station, young lady, but you're in the way of the diesel pump, and I wasn't aware that this was a car wash."
This sonuvabitch was really getting on my nerves now, and I was ready to chuck the squeegee at him, tree sap and all. Cut the "young lady" bullshit while you're at it.
Instead: "Well. It's my turn now, and I'm washing my windows. So I guess you're gonna have to keep your pants on and wait, aren'tcha?" Old fart.
Smirk. Huffy sigh. Rolled eyes.
"I've got them on, young lady, but I didn't realize this was a car wash." (he was really proud of himself over this line; that much was very clear)
What the hell does this asshole have against people washing their windows at a gas pump where a squeegee and window-cleaning supplies are provided? What does he have against car washes? What does he have against wearing clothes that fit? And what does he have against waiting two more minutes to get to the effing diesel pump? It was a frickin' Monday afternoon. Get your tighty whities out of their twist.
I had been nearly done. Not anymore, though. I went back over all the windows, carefully wiping down the rubber edging on each window to make sure it was sap-free. I took my time rooting for my wallet and phone in the bag in the back seat. Got in my car and took my time figuring out my gas mileage. I was also shaking with the unrequited anger that had nearly demanded that I repeatedly ding his pretty white truck with the squeegee like a good ol' game of whack-a-mole. As I finally drove away, I carefully mouthed "YOU'RE. AN. ASSHOLE."
And then I realized I'd left my Costco card at home.
