Regular? Or Unleaded??

Today, I had the pleasure of once again filling my car with gas. Oh, the joy! Watching the numbers go up…and Up…..and UP.

I tried playing a mental game with it…tried pretending it was a slot machine in Vegas…tried thinking the higher the number, the greater the prize.

It did not work.

And seeing the other horrified expressions from my fellow motorists did nothing to quell my frustration.

I’ve noticed lately that the supermarkets are now carrying gift cards for everything from American Express to my favorite Bed, Bath & Beyond.

“What? Wait. What does this have to do with gasoline?” you ask.

Hang on…I’m getting there. Give a girl a minute.

I think they should start selling gift cards for gasoline. I can just see it now:

• Birthday coming up? Maybe turning the big “four-oh”? How about an Exxon gift card for four tanks of gas? (For it can’t be a mere 40 dollars worth…that’ll barely get you out of the parking lot, much less to your blowout birthday bash.)
• Recently cheated on your spouse? Nothin’ says “I’m reallyreallyreally sorry” like “Getty’s Unlimited Tankful” card…good for an unspecified number of fill-ups, equivalent to the number of times you snuck out of the house (you stinkin' cheater, you)...also depending on just how bad you really were.
• Majorly screwed up that Second Quarter Report? (“Geez…ya leave out one stinkin’ decimal…”) How about a “If you don’t fire me, I’ll work through the next month without calling my friends in Honduras once on the company’s dime” Mobil card??

See? The possibilities are endless. I never thought I’d see the day when the prospect of giving gasoline as a gift could potentially mean so much….to so many.

My editor wanted me to drop by to pick up some paperwork for an assignment. I found myself whining “Do I have to? Wait! I have a fax machine around here somewhere…HERE! YES!! It was UNDER THE BED! Can’t you just FAX IT OVER?” I felt this was a perfectly reasonable request. She reluctantly agreed.

Of course, lifting said fax machine from under the bed into some semblance of an operating position is not easy when one is suffering the effects from a previous day’s first-time-ever yoga/abdominal workout. Suffice to say, I’m fine as long as I don’t cough, or laugh. Or sneeze. Or clear my throat...

Okay, so maybe I’m dying. But that’s not even the worst of it. The worst part is that I tried to go back and do it again…only to discover that it’s been removed. Yes, Jackie…you’ve read that correctly. It’s GONE. Disappeared. Vamoose….outta here...BING, BANG, GONE.

Now, why would they wanna go and do that? And what do you suppose the odds are that I was paying enough attention during my ONE AND ONLY lesson that I could possibly replicate this session...alas, those un-natural positions...on another day?

I think you know the answer to this.

So, now I suppose I’m back to square one.

Only now, I’m untoned, undernourished…and it even hurts to sniffle.