Yesterday I had to stop and get gas in my stupid Grannie6. If you've talked to me in the last month you probably had to listen to me complain about the rental car I have right now (the aforementioned stupid Grannie6). I probably told you the dash is 100 miles long and then complained that my four-door rental sedan is longer than a station wagon AND a minivan. The Pontiac G6 and I don't get along, we just aren't meant to me. But I can appreciate the stupid Grannie6 for one reason, it caused my first "I'm an Oregonian" moment.
In my 11 years of living in the Portland metropolitan area, I've been a Washingtonian. I frequently visited the booming metropolis of Portland but never actually lived on that side of the Columbia River. In September I made the move to Portland, but I still cling on to my Washington roots. I work in Washington, I bank in Washington, my family is in Washington, my chiropractor is in Washington. You get the idea; I haven't fully embraced my Oregon residence.
Yesterday I officially became an Oregonian: I didn't know how to pump my own gas.
In just a few months I've got very accustomed to other people pumping my gas for me. So my stupid Grannie6 has the low fuel light on and I have to fill it one last time before gleefully handing over the keys. When I pulled up to the self-serve gas station in Vancouver, it felt a bit odd. I have to get out of my car? Gross!
It took me a minute to reacquaint myself with pumping gas. Do I first put in my debit card, or do I remove the gas handle first? Without too much difficulty, I paid for my gas and chose the appropriate octane. But here's where the difficulty came in... I couldn't get the gas tank open on the stupid Grannie6. I tried and tried but it didn't just twist off like any normal car. Stupid rental. I quickly realized how pathetic my situation was. "Shit! Am I really going to have to be THAT girl who goes into the gas station asking for help pumping gas?" I couldn't accept the title of the ditzy girl who couldn't pump her own gas, and being stubborn, I fought with that stupid Grannie6 gas cap until it popped open. I don't know what I did. I probably couldn't do it again -- thankfully I turned the rental back in today. And in my own defense, it’s not just that I'm ditzy or that I'm an Oregonian now. That dumb Grannie6 gas cap had a picture of the owner's manual on it. You shouldn't need an owner's manual to get gas. Stupid Grannie6. So yeah, big moment for me yesterday (and I turned in the stupid Grannie6 today, also a big moment).
