I don’t know what it is, but I’m useless at filling up our car.
I mean, on paper it makes sense that I’d forget; we drive the car to do groceries, and drive to visit family on either coast so it gets used about twice a week...that’s about it.
It surprises me however, as I love the smell of petrol and I would assume that there would be an overwhelming message sent from my brain telling me I have to fill up the car if for no other reason that to smell the good old petroleum distillate.
…potentially about a chroming addiction.
Today, my partner and I had to go finish cleaning our old (cursed) unit and drop off the keys before heading down the coast to see my family.
Sounds like a very relaxed, easy day; thanks to my lack of lack of fuel awareness, it turned a whole lot stressful.
I noticed the fuel light on just after we passed Robina, how long before that it had been on, I don’t know.
“Shit…I forgot to get fuel!”
“Isn’t there one coming up?”
“Oh…yeah, next exit. Sweet!”
With my nerves calmed by my partner, who isn’t from the Gold Coast yet has more of an idea of its geographical locations; we drove on the extra minute to the next exit.
“Awesome…here it comes.”
I turned on my indicator in preparation.
“Fuck…there it goes.”
Turns out, I missed the exit.
The next fifteen minutes of the drive were quite stressful. With windows down, the air-con and music off, we continued 20 kilometres under the speed limit in a desperate (see: Paranoid) bid to save fuel.
“Sweet…there is another petrol station!” I gasped in relief when we exited the highway. “Oh…but I don’t know that brand. Can I trust it?”
“We need petrol…I think that is the most important factor here,” my partner countered rationally.
“Yeah…your probably right.”
Probably? PROBABLY? I think I am insane.
Now I know this isn’t really a major issue…if it only happens every once in a while, but I swear this situation is repeated every time I have to fill up the car.
It’s shaving years off my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment