I have an unfortunate habit of making a fool of myself whenever I’m trying to make a good first impression on someone. Especially if that someone is of the male persuasion.
Several years ago, there was a handsome fellow from work that I had taken an interest in (let’s call him “Ralph” although names have been changed to protect the innocent :)), and by some turn of good fortune, we had quickly gotten to know each other better over a weekend of hanging out with mutual friends. At some point during our acquaintance, we had discovered we were both taking a trip down to the LA area the following weekend, and had casually discussed car-pooling together. When fate intervened and Ralph’s car conveniently broke down the next morning, our casual idea turned into concrete plans.
Now that I was fully nervous about car-pooling down to LA with a boy for the weekend, I had some thinking to do. My car at the time had proven to be rather unreliable, so my best friend, being the amazing person she is, offered to let me borrow her Toyota Avalon for the weekend. I was all over this idea, since her car was far more slick than my own. All leather black interior? Don’t mind if I do. I set off for my weekend adventure with Ralph in confidence.
Without going on too many tangents, let me just suffice it to say, the weekend turned out to be a comedy of errors. Shortly after arriving in Hollywood, we were to meet up with Ralph’s friend for lunch, and since I was driving my friend’s car, I was taking extra care with it. I was having trouble parking at our lunch destination – if you’ve ever driven in West Hollywood, you’ll understand my plight. After 20 minutes of both boys standing outside the car trying to guide me into the spot, I gave up and let Ralph do it, which he managed to somehow accomplish in less than one move, or something ridiculous like that.
Then it turned out the event I was down there for was actually on Sunday, not Saturday, so now I had clearly proven I was a scatterbrained girl who can’t keep her calendar straight AND can’t drive.
The coup-de-gras was the day we left. After a weekend of feeling completely self-defeated by my own folly, I was just looking forward to getting out of there. It was clear any chance I had of giving this guy the impression I was a completely put-together, mature, capable young woman, had flown out the window. We just had one last stop before we could hit the highway – the gas station.
Ralph offered to get us some snacks while I filled up. I immediately noticed something was wrong because the nozzle didn’t seem to fit in the tank opening. Now some of you may already know exactly where this story is headed, but I promise you, I was still completely oblivious at this point. I thought maybe the tank in her car was different, or perhaps the nozzles at this station were different (yes, I ACTUALLY thought that). So I held the nozzle up against the opening to the tank and filled ‘er up.
Just as I was finishing, Ralph came out and offered to drive home, so he slid behind the wheel. We got about 5 feet from the gas station driveway before the car died. Now panic was filling my chest because I didn’t want anything to happen to my friend’s car. Ralph was running through the usual checklist of what might be wrong, and he finally looked at me, with what might have been pity in his eyes, and asked “Steph…you didn’t….you didn’t fill the tank with diesel fuel…did you?!” I kid you not, my exact words, full of indignation, were “I’m not that stupid!” Ralph clearly had already learned better at this point, and asked to see my receipt. I pulled it out and together we leaned it to get the verdict. There it was, in bold print – the word practically jumping off the page, laughing in my face – “Diesel”. *sigh* there was nothing I could say to come back from this one.
Ralph was mercifully kind about the whole thing. We had to call a tow truck to haul the car to a local dealership, and find a rental car to get us home. One more weekend and 700$ later, my friend’s tank was cleaned and we had to drive back down to Hollywood to pick it up. That was one expensive lesson.
In my defense, it was one of the most confusing gas stations I have ever visited. After this incident, I obviously did some research to prevent further accidents, and learned that most diesel nozzles have green handles and are located on the far side of the pump, away from the regular three. Neither scenario was true for this particular station. That’s what I remind myself of, anyway, to make myself feel better.
Oh, and this may surprise you, but things between Ralph and I…well, they never worked out. I heard he’s married now. That could have been me. And it’s all the gas station’s fault…..perhaps it’s a conspiracy, to keep me single forever. Another theory to add to my list…
#3 Blonde Moment
#1 Blonde Moment
Several years ago, there was a handsome fellow from work that I had taken an interest in (let’s call him “Ralph” although names have been changed to protect the innocent :)), and by some turn of good fortune, we had quickly gotten to know each other better over a weekend of hanging out with mutual friends. At some point during our acquaintance, we had discovered we were both taking a trip down to the LA area the following weekend, and had casually discussed car-pooling together. When fate intervened and Ralph’s car conveniently broke down the next morning, our casual idea turned into concrete plans.
Now that I was fully nervous about car-pooling down to LA with a boy for the weekend, I had some thinking to do. My car at the time had proven to be rather unreliable, so my best friend, being the amazing person she is, offered to let me borrow her Toyota Avalon for the weekend. I was all over this idea, since her car was far more slick than my own. All leather black interior? Don’t mind if I do. I set off for my weekend adventure with Ralph in confidence.
Without going on too many tangents, let me just suffice it to say, the weekend turned out to be a comedy of errors. Shortly after arriving in Hollywood, we were to meet up with Ralph’s friend for lunch, and since I was driving my friend’s car, I was taking extra care with it. I was having trouble parking at our lunch destination – if you’ve ever driven in West Hollywood, you’ll understand my plight. After 20 minutes of both boys standing outside the car trying to guide me into the spot, I gave up and let Ralph do it, which he managed to somehow accomplish in less than one move, or something ridiculous like that.
Then it turned out the event I was down there for was actually on Sunday, not Saturday, so now I had clearly proven I was a scatterbrained girl who can’t keep her calendar straight AND can’t drive.
The coup-de-gras was the day we left. After a weekend of feeling completely self-defeated by my own folly, I was just looking forward to getting out of there. It was clear any chance I had of giving this guy the impression I was a completely put-together, mature, capable young woman, had flown out the window. We just had one last stop before we could hit the highway – the gas station.
Ralph offered to get us some snacks while I filled up. I immediately noticed something was wrong because the nozzle didn’t seem to fit in the tank opening. Now some of you may already know exactly where this story is headed, but I promise you, I was still completely oblivious at this point. I thought maybe the tank in her car was different, or perhaps the nozzles at this station were different (yes, I ACTUALLY thought that). So I held the nozzle up against the opening to the tank and filled ‘er up.
Just as I was finishing, Ralph came out and offered to drive home, so he slid behind the wheel. We got about 5 feet from the gas station driveway before the car died. Now panic was filling my chest because I didn’t want anything to happen to my friend’s car. Ralph was running through the usual checklist of what might be wrong, and he finally looked at me, with what might have been pity in his eyes, and asked “Steph…you didn’t….you didn’t fill the tank with diesel fuel…did you?!” I kid you not, my exact words, full of indignation, were “I’m not that stupid!” Ralph clearly had already learned better at this point, and asked to see my receipt. I pulled it out and together we leaned it to get the verdict. There it was, in bold print – the word practically jumping off the page, laughing in my face – “Diesel”. *sigh* there was nothing I could say to come back from this one.
Ralph was mercifully kind about the whole thing. We had to call a tow truck to haul the car to a local dealership, and find a rental car to get us home. One more weekend and 700$ later, my friend’s tank was cleaned and we had to drive back down to Hollywood to pick it up. That was one expensive lesson.
In my defense, it was one of the most confusing gas stations I have ever visited. After this incident, I obviously did some research to prevent further accidents, and learned that most diesel nozzles have green handles and are located on the far side of the pump, away from the regular three. Neither scenario was true for this particular station. That’s what I remind myself of, anyway, to make myself feel better.
Oh, and this may surprise you, but things between Ralph and I…well, they never worked out. I heard he’s married now. That could have been me. And it’s all the gas station’s fault…..perhaps it’s a conspiracy, to keep me single forever. Another theory to add to my list…
#3 Blonde Moment
#1 Blonde Moment
Eventhough I know the story, you had me LOLing in my cube while people walked by and looked at me funny.
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