Parking cars and pumping gas
The Passat pulled in on the other side of the pumps just as I rode in. I dismounted, stretched myself and opened the filler cap on the Harley, shoving the nozzle into the tank as I waited for the pump display to reset.
She was cute, and smartly dressed too. She had files and shit in the back of the car, like she was a lawyer or maybe a saleswoman that sells expensive crap to other expensive people. A layer or two above my social status anyhow.
I looked towards the office, irritated that the clerk was slow about zeroing the pumps. Still, the scenery was good; the lady made the nicest view I’d seen all day. I allowed myself to daydream a little, no harm in that.
The pump started humming and I began to fill the tank, one eye on the display and one on the lady in her grey suit. I was surprised when she spoke; mostly, chicks like that don’t waste any time on a middle-aged biker.
‘Hi’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, I said, ‘for an old guy.’
She half turned away but continued to talk.
‘What kind of a day are you having?’
‘Not good’ I said, ‘got a speeding ticket just a few minutes ago, I never saw him.’
‘Fantastic!’ she said, which seemed unfair. ‘Did you have lunch?’
That surprised me, but I never look a gift horse in the mouth.
‘Nope’ I said, ‘but if you’re buying…..’
She turned back towards the pump and slotted the nozzle back in its place, flashing me a smile, or maybe more of a grimace. That’s when I noticed the phone cable, and the earpiece.
‘I’ll have to call you back’ she said, ‘there’s some guy here keeps butting into our conversation.’