I went to the gas station closest to my new place today. It was the first time I went. It’s very convenient — literally a quarter mile away. The only thing that isn’t great is that it’s full service. I really don’t have good luck with full service gas stations. But still, as I pulled in I thought about how wonderful it was to have the gas station so close. I was so pleased to have a place that I felt certain I would go to all the time.
As I turned the key and the engine shuddered to a stop, I asked for the attendant to fill it up. He took my card and asked how old I was.
“That’s very good,” as if it is a fact. As if 24 is a wondrous age that isn’t at all full of wondering how long you can reasonably go without getting your eyebrows done since your bangs cover them so it doesn’t really matter, or wondering if your life is on the right track at all, or wondering if your eyebrows are unknowingly representative of the state of your life and even if it’s not, what does that mean if you’re the type of person to hypothesize that it does?
He left to go help someone else as my gas pumped and I thought about how I can’t wait for it all to be over, except it isn’t over. Of course it isn’t over. Because I can’t just visit a really great, convenient gas station and get on with my life. I have to make things terrible and awkward and even though I could see the question he was about to ask me from a million miles away based on the other things he asked (“Who do you live with? Your parents? Friends?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” And I looked down and forced a smile out of politeness while I toyed with the idea of pointing out the obvious like I’m fat and have acne which are two things that are not often considered attractive [because duh] as well as the less obvious like how I apparently have issues with physical and emotional intimacy and can never believe even a platonic compliment), I still did not prepare with how to answer his request for my phone number. I’ve never had a guy straight up ask for my number. Consequently, I’ve never had to think of ways to be polite while still saying no thank you and so I was even more awkward, flustered and bad at lying than I normally am. So I told him my phone was broken. He asked for my email. I obliged because I had already run out of lies. It wasn’t even a good lie, and it was my only one. He asked when my phone would be working and I said not for a long time because I didn’t have money for a new charger. He said he would take me out to buy one.
I said thank you and drove away and thought about how I just lost out on a good gas station, will probably never check my e-mail again out of fear of having to deal with any more things outside of my comfort zone and man, isn’t it so fucking stupid that lately I’ve had that I’m tired of being alone feeling in the back of my mind for the first time in my entire life, but when someone asks for my number I act like it is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and also I will actively avoid that man for the rest of my entire, living life?
I do need a new car charger though.