Gasholes! On a recent lazy Sunday afternoon while pumping gas at a local independent convenience store, I noticed that the nozzle wasn’t sitting properly in the gas tank as I pumped the gas. It was all wiggly and felt like it was going to fall out if left unattended. The last of the digits ticked out and with a loud click I knew my tank was full. As I disengaged the nozzle it looked loose and as I attempted to replace it in the holster the little metal nozzle just plinked onto the asphalt. Apparently the little vent flow holes had weakened from years of use and just snapped from the brittle metal. I had a rush of withering thoughts of just how much it would have cost me to have it extracted had it fallen into my tank or worse having it some how make my car explode due to friction and metal on metal action. I realize that this is likely an impossibility but in my worst case scenario mind even a loose bearing can cause a chain reaction leading to an eventual ten car pile up blocking a presidential motorcade rushing to bring the stop codes to prevent all out nuclear war thus ending the world due to my unwillingness to spend the extra $36.00 to pack the ball bearings in my drive shaft. So rather than gingerly placing the nozzle back in place for the next schmuck, I brought it in to the clerk so that he could avoid the next guy who could be a potentially violent asshole whose gas hole was bigger and swallowed up the nozzle wrecking his precious tricked out 1995 Jeep Wrangler. Where upon, he would promptly stalk angrily to the unsuspecting clerk and break his neck leaving his immigrant family of nine kids and a mother in law with no means of support. I wasn’t kidding about my worst-case scenario mind was I? I was bringing the nozzle in to save this poor man’s life. I wrapped it in a paper towel and placed it on the countertop and told the clerk what had happened. His head snapped up from the newspaper and he said offhandedly, “Then you must pay for it.” I chuckled at his joke and waved him off as I headed back to my car. As I was reaching for my door handle I heard an accent voice yelling at me to stop. It was the clerk. “You must pay for broken pump.” Incredulous I said, “You’re kidding –right?” “No. You pay.” I make a play at looking all around and slyly ask, “Am I being punked?” He shakes the piece at me and tells me that since I was the last one using it and it was fine before I must have been the one who broke it. Only it took him about ten sentences to say it. So at this point I realize about three things: this guy wasn’t kidding, customer service was dead and now I was mad. Everywhere I go now, there’s no service or bad service. Have you tried recently to try to find a simple screwdriver at one of those ginormous hardware stores lately? What about ordering something online? Good luck if you have an issue with your order. How about enquiring about a service or getting a quote on something? Zero follow-ups are what you can look forward to in this troubled economy where everybody is supposedly hungry for your business. The last time I got good service, I stopped off at a Porsche dealership to use the restroom and when I came back my car was valet parked, CDs alphabetized, washed, detailed and spray scented with a vanilla leather concoction. My car smelled like a gay ice cream cone. But I remember thinking about how this could be the last bastion of true customer service. But then again, Porsche has the A-hole clientele so they have to acquiesce on the service end lest someone notices that they’re simply charging too much for a Volkswagen. Meanwhile back at the gas station: Something snapped inside me. Why was I always the poor schmuck dealing with the A-hole? When I’m on the job, I’m always trying to please the customer and when I’m the customer I usually get the guy who’s having the bad day and once again, I’m trying to make their day a little easier by being polite. But not today, it was MY turn to be the A-hole. “You pay or I call the police!” He almost nearly shouted. I gave it the old, “WWCWD?” [Ed note-What Would Christopher Walken Do? I cracked my neck, leaned in and said in an almost whisper, “Here’s what you’ll do, you’re gonna turn around and leave me be right after you kiss my ass because I’m not paying for a damn thing here. And you’re lucky it was me who turned in the broken piece because if it turned out to be the guy with the Jeep Wrangler, he would have fed it to you through your broken teeth.” There was a brief silence and the clerk looked like he was going to leave until his co-worker came to his side. Emboldened, he said, “You stay and wait for police. Give me your drivers license.” Very calmly I pointed to my license plate. “This the only license you get to see. You should really get to writing or memorizing fast because I’m leaving.” I continued, “If you give me any more grief over this I will not hesitate to make this place a living hell for you. I will call the health department about your 16 hour old danger dogs on those rollers, I’ll call weights and measures over your inaccurate pumps, I’ll call TABC about your questionable business practices and then for spice I’ll call immigration.” I cracked my neck again. Then I got in the car slammed the door for effect and tried to peel out but hey, I drive a little Toyota. Of course I canceled my credit card within minutes just in case these guys had any clever thoughts of charging a damn gas nozzle to my Visa after the fact. And what did we learn from this little exercise? While it’s still important to do the right thing, sometimes it’s better to be the jerk because otherwise you’re going to get jerked. Words-Mike Wilshin (www.myspace.com/old_man_mike) Illustration-Grant Sutherland (www.greetingsfromwonderland.com) www.wilshinphotography.com | 
