gas pump adventures

As of late, we've been having dramatic episodes at gas stations.

First, some background info:

Because of Marty's work schedule, we're often forced to drive two separate cars when we go out for the evening: I drive my car to wherever we're supposed to be that particular night, and Marty drives his work truck, whenever he gets off work. Thus, at the end of the night, we drive two cars home. Sometimes, we stop for gas on the way home. (Boring, I know. Hold on. It gets better.)

Episode #1
We pulled into a Shell station to gas up my car. Marty hops out to pump the gas for me (isn't he nice?), and I roll down my window so that I can watch The Office on the gas pump's flat screen TV. (I know. How spoiled are we?)

We're watching Dwight replace all the junk food in the lunchroom vending machine with fresh fruits and vegetables, when I hear someone start talking to Marty.

"Hey man. I'm outta gas, and I gotta get to 159th and acorn--way south of here. No money. Can I have a few dollars?"

A likely story, sure. Could be true. Could be a big fat lie.

My reaction? LIAR! Dude, call a friend and have him pick you up...

Marty's reaction? He asks a few questions, weighs the situation, and gives the guy a couple of dollars. He also gives him a bible that he keeps in his truck, and talks to him some more.

Maybe the guy was a con artist. Maybe he was lying. But maybe he needed the bible. And maybe Marty's freely-given dollars were enough of a reason for the guy to open it up and read it.

Regardless, I am a skeptic. My husband is an optimist. We are quite the pair.

How would you handle that sort of situation?

(By the way, for what it's worth: we watched the man take the money, walk into the store, and pay for gas with the money Marty gave him...)


Episode #2
We pulled into a sort of seedy-looking gas station around 11pm.

Again, Marty usually pumps my gas for me (yeah, yeah, leave me alone...), but since it was late, and we just wanted to get home, I hopped out and started filling up my tank.

All of the sudden, I hear a whistle. As in, a cat-call whistle.

The older man with the white van at the gas pump next to mine was whistling at me.

Are you kidding me? Does anyone even do that anymore?

The best part? Marty heard it.

He comes charging over, grabs the nozzle from my hand, and says, "HERE HONEY. LET ME GET THIS FOR YOU."

The man's face melted. As I got back into the car, I watched him rip the nozzle out of his tank, hop in his van and peal away, Marty's eyes burning a laser-beam hole in his rear-view windows.

Hooray for cat-calls and overprotective husbands!

****

And because no post on this blog should be picture-less... a photo from last summer:
(Due to Chicago's balmy temps yesterday, I am now extremely excited about weather that involves tank-tops and sunglasses!)

*Side note: In the future, I'll spare you any more gas station stories. More pics, on the way soon!