Being reasonably intelligent, I figured out that after four months of driving my faithful old Saturn, as little as possible, it was time to feed it some gasoline. So, I drove to the station closest to my apartment.

I parked in front of the pump, took out my credit card, and followed the pump instructions.  All went well. Then came additional instructions: 
 
 Pick the Gas you want. I picked the cheapest.
 Insert the nozzle. I inserted.  THEN—-
Squeeze the handle.

I squeezed but nothing came out.  

Suddenly, I felt a shower on my pumping arm.  I was so happy!  It was finally raining.  I looked up and sure enough it was raining!  It was raining gasoline! The hose was not connected to the pump, and I was getting a gasoline shampoo.  

As I waved the unattached hose at other customers, , I shouted, “No one light a cigarette.  This sucker isn’t connected.” “Please get some help.”  A few drivers looked at the insane lady, and just did not understand my predicament, but finally a smart fellow said, “I’ll get someone for you.”

An attendant ran out of the building, and as she attempted to connect the hose, I ran into the station to wash off my arm.  When I returned, She said, “Try it now.” Since, I had little confidence in her attachment skills, I moved my car to another pump, as she  said, “Someone obviously drove off with the hose connected.” 

Well, that reasoning process didn’t call for a nuclear physicist. I didn’t think that a customer had climbed up the post and screwed off the hose connection at the top. However, the person who did it was really a jerk—in more ways than one!

Esther Blumenfeld