As I watch the numbers next to the dollar sign - horrrified, by the way - go by faster and faster I notice that the numbers next to "gallons" is taking its sweet, precious time. 'Try and keep up', I think to myself. This is what's wrong with the world today - no drive, no initiative. I remember a day when the number of gallons strived to have the 1/10th cent number look like a constant 8. Now I can only watch in agony as it sluggishly and painfully counts up.
CLUNK!
The pump handle jumps abrubtly to it's starting position. Inspecting the numbers on the display, I note my current amount due as $51.97. Oh, so close - yet, this is unacceptable. I rub my hands together in preparation of coaxing that last three cents of gasoline out of the pump.
Steady, steady...ever so gently a grasp the pump handle. Using a slow, calculated grip I squeeze the handle slightly to acheive a brief spurt - a task I have successfully accomplished on a number of occasions. The pump opens for only half a second, letting that 3 cent breath into my gas tank.
Content with the maneuver, I moved my eyes again to the display to inspect and confirm my $52.00 even charge. To my utter dismay, almost as if to smirk at me, the display before me reads $52.03. How could the science of the couple-of-cent gas spurt have failed me so horribly? With a full gas tank, there was no way to reach that so desired .00 goal.
Forget the pain to my pocketbook, how is an obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist like myself supposed to cope in these economic times? I am truly scarred. It's going to be a tough day...
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