Apparently it takes some of us longer to learn. Can’t prove to Uncle Sam I bought gas without one. I also know that I always need a receipt. Just a little gas knowledge I like to pass along.
Seems that little on/off, on/off adds to the amount but does not put gas in my tank. I know that once the pump quits it is not in my best interest to try to get it up to a round number. Unless driving something that takes diesel. I know to use the red or black gas handles not the green. Finally, after many years I am comfortable in getting gas by myself. Most things try to keep me from making mistakes. Sometimes it’s like shopping as you unload your own cart, seeing all the things people have mistakenly picked up and then just kinda left them there for the next person. So, things get left there for the night crew to clean up and put back on the shelves from where they came. Seems the person or persons unloading the cart made a mistake and didn’t really want that particular brand of baby wipes. Or a package of baby wipes tucked under a box of jerky just before the moving belt. You know a jar of spaghetti sauce or a box of scouring pads kinda hidden in the candy display.
A small probable mistake thing I’ve noticed more than a few times are things left at the checkout counter. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person on Mother Earth to make the same mistake more than once or twice or thrice. Apparently I really like the ride to town. You know, considering that it is a 20-mile round trip for me to the post office you would think I would get it right. It makes for a red face and some shouting in my head, “Yes, she did it again,” as I walk the walk of shame out the door with the right box to “trade” out with. Unfortunately, I have yet to pass the, “read the box, the whole box,” to get the right box to send goodies out.
Trina the one clean free#
Yes a plain brown paper wrapped “but.” Now the post office offers wonderful new clean, stain free boxes to choose from. If it was in really bad shape I would cut up a paper bag and wrap the box all pretty. Then reform it into a passable mailing box. I am from the era where I had to scrounge to find a box, mark out all the writing and take off all the old tape. So, when I get my turn I am happy to be told over and over again that I have chosen the wrong box to mail my do dads in. Who hasn’t? I like to think of myself as a good waiter-in-liner. They are hardworking and somehow still smile and have a welcoming greeting when I step up to the window. Let me start by saying I appreciate the great people who work in our local post office.
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