OZ revisited . . .

I am not a Florida native. Not that I wouldn't be proud to be one. Heck, I hail from Jersey. I know not to throw stones. I live on the coast and I love it. But sometimes, I forget that if you venture inland just a wee bit, the denizens of New York, Michigan and Toronto disappear and some real characters are sure to be in the offing. I entered their territory today. It was scary.

So there I am tooling along the interstate on my way home, watching the needle of my gas tank indicator sink lower and lower. Nope, I wasn't going to make it. Mile marker 311 and I am headed down the off ramp, having seen a friendly Mobil sign a mile or two back.

One short block and I had entered 1951. The ancient pumps were beyond my ken. I slowly looked around . . . something the 9TS is always on my case to do BEFORE I get out of the car and I, as usual, had paid him little heed. It was a two pump operation complete with a mechanic's bay . . . oh, and one large but seemingly indifferent hound. I headed into the ramshackled building. This was not Mayberry folks. Nothing warm and cheery going on here.

Inside, the proprietor was chatting with two of his cronies. I'm guessing from the amount of grease, they worked the bay. They both nodded and greeted me with a 'howdy Ma'am' and sauntered off. So now I'm left with Charles Manson meets Bubba and my knees started to knock. I explained that I couldn't figure out the pump and he grabs my credit card . . . does something with it and tells me now the pump will work. I asked for my card back and he says, "Not til you're done filling up." I don't like being parted from my card so I run like the dickens, get 12 bucks worth of gas and force myself back inside . . . hand out. He's looking at me and looking at my card and out of my mouth blurts . . . 'You must get a lot of pump and runs here to keep my card.' He nods behind me and says, "Lady, see that brick, wrapped in blue?" "I can haul that through a window and knock a person clear silly." "Nobody gets my gas without paying." "I'd a let you pump your gas right away if you'd pushed the right button but since you came waltzing in with your card, I was a going to keep it, to make sure" As his hand reached forward, my card in sight, I grabbed it faster than greased lightening, bolted for the car and left a little rubber in his lot. About 15 minutes down the road, my heart calmed down to a mere gallop and my white knuckles eased up on the wheel. Remind me to stay on the coast.