My application for assisted living

Gas. Not the kind I get from trying to process dairy, but the kind that makes my car purr down the highway at 70 miles an hour has become synonymous with my particular lifestyle. I've gotten gas one or twice a week for the last 10 years of my life. You'd think I'd be a master at it by now... But alas, like still needing to wear a bib, having to look at my feet when I walk, and my inability to make my bed every morning, I have come to the conclusion that God made me special.

It was a sweltering Thursday evening on my way home from work when my car beeped at me signaling it's hunger for fuel. Just my luck, I was coming to the gas station located around the corner from my dwelling. I pull in and all the stalls look to be occupied. But wait! If I can squeeze myself between the curb and this car here, I can pull into a stall from the other side. I crept by her, making sure not to scratch her cherry red SUV, when I realized three things: 1.  I was suddenly very hungry, 2. She was looking at me funny, and 3. There seemed to be orange pylons and yellow caution tape purposefully located right in front of her bumper... I didn't put this together right away. I saw enough space to maneuver my car through the tight space, so that is exactly what I did.

That's when I saw the construction equipment, several more pylons, and multiple Hispanic men waving their arms at me. I soon realized that I was driving on asphalt not quite ready to be driven on. What does one do in this situation? Bail out and run for home base? Apologize profusely and offer to pay their wages for a year? Tell them you are dying of a horrific disease and pray they feel sorry for you? The answer would be D, none of the above. My emotions took control of my brain and I froze at the wheel. After 3 minutes an elderly Hispanic man waddled over to me and informed me to not move or I'll mess everything up. I suggested that they build my car into the parking lot as a beautiful artistic sculpture while I turned 10 shades of red and continued trying to apparate somewhere... anywhere else. Needless to say, he did not laugh, chuckle, or even smirk at my remark. He simply grimaced, mumbled a couple of choice words under his breath and guided me to safe harbor. I quickly left the gas station with my foot lodged firmly between my teeth. Still on an empty tank.

Mujer blanca loca acercarse,

Jessica