Not pushing my luck

In the post below, I published two pictures but did not actually go to the blog to see how they came out. That was a mistake. When I saw this massive image on the pages, with the sidebar eating into crucial features, such as the finger on the highest-priced gas, I thought, “Well, . . .” Actually, I don’t need to quote myself exactly.

I switched over to text format and saw that both pictures had been posted as “full” so I took a guess and changed that to “large”; that was a good decision, but it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t feel like trying “medium” and being wrong, so I am letting it stay large and am just typing away to move the post in question down the page.

Since I have to make it farther down than I am already, let me also add that it is at this gas station where I noticed the pump asked you if you wanted a receipt, not while you were choosing credit/debit, car wash Yes/No, but after the gas had finished pumping and you had turned away to put the gas cap back on.

The receipt question did not remain until you indicated your choice. No, it stayed up for a couple of seconds and then, Poof, was gone. I imagine the company saves money on the paper not used because people miss the receipt question. I can imagine people at the gas company actually acting out scenarios with cardboard pumps and car props, all the time asking, “Now, what can I do to save the company money?” I can see calculators whizzing and popping up with a large amount of money saved if across the US, people miss the question that would cause the machine to put out paper.

It’s so simple. And the little finger on the high-octane gas? Oh, so clever. It pisses yo off; on the other hand, one time I was so intent on watching for the receipt question, I forgot to screw the cap back on and it hung out until I noticed a policeman behind me with lights flashing. As he walked up to my window, I wondered what I had done. He smiled and told me what I had not done – put the cap back on and he did it for me. It probably would have pissed me off, but I was too busy thwacking myself on the forehead.

I do not know why I am using the word “pissed” this morning; I hear the voice in my head, saying, “So, Daddy,” and yet I’m not actually going back and changing it. I guess I am going to Hell in a hand basket.