Tasty Retreat

You might recall from my post a week ago that John and I were taking a day to ourselves. A day to spend outdoors surrounded by food (go figure), to eat seasonal snacks (go figure), and then to gorge on a “special occasion” meal for dinner.

Go figure.

We did what any smart New Yorkers would do as they leave the city and drive into Jersey: we stopped for gas. For those “in the know,” it’s no surprise that gas in Jersey is usually a full $0.40 – $0.50 cheaper than here in NY. I pulled off to one of the first stations I could find, handed the attendant my debit card, and asked him to fill her up on regular. (Jersey is full-service only.)

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during those next few minutes, but as the pump halted to a stop, I peered over at the display and casually mentioned to John how thirsty my car was (something I say often when I realize my adorable mini SUV is actually a gas guzzler). After a moment of calculating the final cost versus the amount of fuel my car just took, John looked confused. Apparently the attendant decided to pump mid grade instead of regular.

I know what you’re thinking. “No big deal. How much more could it have cost you?”

Well, it cost us an additional $4. Nothing to cry over, but what’s infuriating is how this situation was dealt with.

First, I call over the attendant who, mind you, has been talking on his cell phone throughout this entire interaction. I tell him in a less-than-friendly tone that he pumped the wrong gas in my vehicle. He stares at me with a look on his face that makes me think he doesn’t understand English.

I tell him again.

This time he arches his shoulders and raises his hands (still on his cell phone) as if to say, “Do I care?”

John is now becoming increasingly angry. I’m staring at him in disbelief of how little this guy cares about fixing the problem he caused. John tries to talk to him (and even asks him to get off his cell phone), but he’s having none of it.

And with that, John went inside to speak to a manager.

End of story. Problem resolved. Right? Wrong.

Mr. Hot Shot Manager responds to the situation by saying, “No problem. Let me call someone to come and pump the gas out of your car, and then we’ll replace it with regular.”

I’m sorry, what? You want us to sit in your tiny gas station for a minimum of 45 minutes (though probably much longer) so you can pump gas OUT of my car? Not happening. Not now, or ever.

To prevent a long story from getting too long, I will conclude by saying yes, we did win the battle. We were reimbursed for the attendant’s mistake, but this seriously put a damper on our morning. I couldn’t believe how rude and dismissive these men were to us.

Moral of the story? There isn’t one. Mostly I wanted to share my frustration with an audience that would listen and see if my feelings of frustration were warranted.

This is where you tell me I’m not crazy.

Now for some good news! I made a fantastic meal of short ribs and bleu cheese mashed potatoes that anyone (anyone who likes meat, that is) would love. It made me completely forget about how angry I was earlier. That’s a good sign, right?

Continue reading Short Ribs with Bleu Cheese Mashed Potatoes