The Last Pump
A fluorescent-flickering Shell station off I-95 in southern New Jersey at 11:02 PM, where one pump is still working and the digital price sign has been stuck on $3.79⁹ since Tuesday.
Double's tank is at 1/16th and the GPS says 47 miles to the Airbnb. The single working pump has a handwritten OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it, but the nozzle is still in the cradle and the screen reads PLEASE SELECT GRADE. A tow truck driver filling up his own rig on the other side says the sign's been wrong all week. The attendant inside is asleep with his face on a Wawa hoagie wrapper.
“The pump literally says select grade. The universe doesn't leave a loaded gun on the table and expect you not to fire it.”
“It's not a loaded gun, it's a pump with a sign on it that says don't use me — you're describing the opposite of what a loaded gun is.”
The pump sputtered, displayed ERROR twice, then dispensed exactly 2.3 gallons of premium at $3.79⁹ before dying forever with a mechanical groan that woke up the attendant. They coasted into the Airbnb driveway on fumes so thin the engine coughed three times like it was giving a eulogy.
That pump was WAITING for someone brave enough to believe in it.
We arrived on literal vapors and you're acting like you planned a fuel-efficient route.