In which I got trapped at the gas pump

One day a couple of weeks ago, I pulled into a gas station near my office to fill up.

 

Once I’d gotten out of my car and set the pump up, an enthusiastic young man approached me at the front of my van, waved a bottle of cleaning solution around me and asked me if I like washing my car.

 

Me: “Actually, a service comes to my office, so I don’t have to wash it myself.”

 

Him: “Well, that’s great. But what if you could wash it yourself and get even better results?”

 

Me: “I don’t WANT to wash it. That’s why I pay someone else to do it.”  [polite smile]

 

Him: “Lemme just show you what this can do. Only $24 for the whole bottle.”

 

Me: “I don’t have much time; I’m just getting gas and then I need to pick up my kids from school.”

 

Him:  [sprays one of my wheels with the solution]  “See? Your wheels are all grimy from your brake dust. But one spray of this, and they’re shiny like you just left the showroom floor.”

 

Me: “Well, they ARE shiny. But again, I don’t need it. I pay someone to wash my car when it really needs a bath.”

 

Him: “Tell you what. I bet you pay more than $24 to have him wash your car. I’ll sell you this bottle for $12. JUST $12!”

 

Me: “Well, that frustrates me, because you just tried to sell it to me for twice that.”

 

And Internet, I KID YOU NOT. Right then, a woman walks over from the next pump, smiling, and hands me an Avon sales booklet with her card stapled to it. She told me to call her with my makeup needs. I looked around, thinking I might be on Candid Camera. OMG. WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?

 

Him: “It doesn’t just do your wheels. Look.”  [Takes two fingers, wipes black grease off of my wheel and smears it on my windshield.]  “I just give it a quick spray, wipe it off, and it’s good as new! And it has some wax in it, so it’ll even repel bugs and dirt … you’ll hardly have anything stick to your windshield anymore!”

 

Me: “Seriously, I don’t need this. Thanks for the demonstration, but I really need to go.”  [still politely smiling]

 

[I unhooked the gas pump from my van, closed up shop and grabbed my receipt from the pump, opening my door.]

 

Him: “OKAY! OKAY! I’ll give you the unprecedented offer of FOUR DOLLARS. FOUR DOLLARS FOR THIS BOTTLE RIGHT HERE!”

 

Me:  [firmly but nicely]  “No. Thank. You.”

 

And I waved as I drove off.

 

But do you know what I noticed as I pulled into the parking deck at work the next day? His fingerprints. On my windshield. From where he wiped that nasty tire muck on it. 

 

And I’ve wiped it several times with my wiper fluid, and it even rained yesterday and my wipers went over those spots about a hundred times. No dice. The nasty, unsolicited fingerprints are still there.

 

I hope gas station owners are listening when I say: That station is the closest one to my office, as well as the ONLY one on my route before I get to the interstate. And I will never, EVER purchase gas there again.