Gas . . . Name that tune . . .
I know I haven’t written much lately as it has been a madhouse here over the last month or so. I think it probably is that tweaking of mindset getting ready for summer after a long dark winter.
As we approach the summer Solstice on Thursday and the time gain each day has slowed to a few seconds now we move into that high gear mode of an active summer. We are in our period of ‘full light’ now with only a couple hours of twilight during the middle of the ‘nighttime’ hours. It seems everything is moving faster now with more activities to fill everyone’s time each day.
Fishing season has begun again with a quickly put together trip to Homer last weekend. It was great with summer temperatures here again around 68 degrees. It became windy while we were fishing during the ‘night’ high tide so it was a little breezy with my light shirt on. Who needs cold weather gear while we are in summer mode? It might have been more comfortable but I still had a great time anyway.
When we filled the rig up with fuel to make the drive down the debate seems lately to turn to the price of gas and whether it is worth the cost to make the trip. For fishing . . . sure it is!
Is it possible that pumping gas could be fun? I mean, we all know it isn't fun to pay for the gas, but could there be a consolation to high prices at the pump? I think so after these latest fill ups.
I don't know about ya’ll, but when I pump gas I kind of drift off, or rather, enter another galaxy in my mind if I do not have to clean windshields. I stare off into space thinking about how much paying for this is going to suck, or more likely, "Damnit, I forgot to get the toilet paper at Costco!" But this time . . . it was different.
As I began to drift off, just entering "Nowhereville," I found myself being drawn out of my trance by a rhythmic clicking. "What is that?" I asked myself. It sounded familiar, yet foreign. It was a perfect beat, one that I could actually get into if I were so inclined, but WHAT WAS IT? I start to tap my foot with the beat . . . it works.
I became focused, intent on identifying the song the pump was "pumping out." Wait . . . wait . . . here it comes . . . "Rollin', rollin', rollin' . . . "It's becoming more clear now . . . "Keep them dogies rollin' . . . "I'm getting it! All the while my dance is becoming a little more pronounced, a little more obvious . . . here comes more, I think I've got it now . . . "Move 'em on, head 'em up, Head 'em up, move 'em out, Move 'em on, head 'em in RAWHIDE!
Rawhide! That's right, the pumps are playing Rawhide! I think I actually sang it out loud! About that time, the pump kicked off, and I was dancing in the middle the gas station lot . . . great. Quick, scan the parking lot . . . was there anyone watching? Just an old fart waving at me with his newspaper and laughing. Oh, and don't forget the attendant who's looking out the window. No big deal, they don't know me . . . who cares?
I put the cap back on my gas tank, close the door, and proceed inside. As I'm entering the gas station to get a cup of coffee and pay for my gas, I pass an extremely HOT, HOT, woman who says, "I liked your dance." She flashed her pearly white smile at my white face (Col. Sanders goatee), and got in her car & left. I thought I it was so funny! I looked at her license plate (I always do, and don't know why), and noticed that she was from
So, like Mission Impossible, without Ethan Hunt, my mission for you, if you choose to accept it, is to listen to your gas pumps. Listen hard. Do you hear the music? What song does your favorite station play?
Oh, and don't get caught dancing to the music . . . people won’t really understand it if they are not close by.
Ice
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