Things Will Be Fine
I put unleaded petrol in the car. I chose the 98 brand instead of the cheaper 95. Not sure why, usually I go for the cheapest as I am Too Clever By Half to be fooled into buying branded gasoline products. The trouble is that my car takes diesel.
Fortunately I noticed quite quickly – when I say I noticed, I mean I noticed that the wife was shouting at me. I thought she was shouting because I’d chosen the 98 brand so I didn’t immediately stop pumping. When she shouted “Our car is diesel!” I put two and two together and released the pressure on the nozzle trigger and thought through fuzzy exhaustion what the best next move was.
In my defence, I hadn’t eaten all day and my brain was sluggish.
I decided that (a) as the tank had been empty, (b) I’d only put about 8 litres in and (c) I could dilute it with another 30-odd litres of diesel, that Things would be fine. Probably. The alternative, I worked out, would be that Things wouldn’t be fine. I decided I preferred the former option.
I drove home and Things were fine.
Hopefully they will remain fine as we nervously work our way through this tank of dodgy mixed.
In my defence (again), I hadn’t slept well either. The fair is in town. This means the waste land in front of my house is chock-a-block with caravans and articulated lorries. I never understood how a fairground generates enough cash to support such vehicles.
The park is stuffed full of gay attractions. A huge big wheel, some scary fast rides that speed you round in jerky circles, up and down. Lots and lots and lots of noise. Stall after stall selling fried food, the stink of dirty fat and heart attack follows you around. Stalls selling hope – tombola-like raffle tickets which can win a bike or a stereo or, most usually, another ticket, another chance. People really buy these things, people really believe.
Last year I put my kids on what looked like a gentle roller-coaster. Each car was an amusing character, the train chugged round and round and up and down and seemed perfectly civilised and safe with Other People’s Children on it. When mine got in and were swept round sharp corners, down steep drops and along speedy straights, I nearly died with shock. My heart was in my mouth. My skin was cold. My hair was on end. The kids adored it.
We’re going again tonight.
Things will be fine.
You poor devil! A slave of circumstances bound to keep the profession for years to come, if not with your kids with your kids’ kids. LOL.
That’s fathers’ predicament.
Jose
July 25, 2009 at 11:20
Yes, Jose, it never ends.
zhisou
July 25, 2009 at 16:11
move to new jersey–it’s ILLEGAL to pump your own gas. this way you can blame it on the attendant.
as for the fair…sounds like such fun. i live about 2 miles from the ocean where there’s a boardwalk full of amusement rides, games, and sugary confections that people go nuts for. we steer clear of it because it’s always packed with tourists and i don’t like rides too much. i’m more of a mini-golf type of gal.
curlywurlygurly
July 27, 2009 at 14:17
I think I’m a mini-golf type of gal too – I felt quite sick when we hurtled round on the huge ferris wheel.
The only bit of New Jersey I know is the bit tacked on to NYC – South Orange, Newark, Hoboken etc.
zhisou
July 27, 2009 at 15:39