The random act of pumping gas

I haven’t had the greatest of weeks of late.  It was Sunday night and I was on my way home after working on a very long and arduous project.

I need some snacks.  Time to stop at the nearby Hess station and pick up some pick-me-ups.

I figured I’d pump some gas first.  Pulled up to the pump.  There was a car in front of me – a Pontiac Sunfire – at the adjoining pump.  Figured I’d let this guy pump his gas first, then I’d pull forward when he was done.

But the driver was struggling with the credit card reader at the pump.   He put his card in, punched in the necessary numbers … nothing.  The pump wouldn’t work.  Now I know that pump works, I’ve used it before.

I looked at his plate.  Nope, it wasn’t a New Jersey plate; are there still people from New Jersey who don’t know how to pump their own gasoline?  Yeah, I know that they actually have full-service gas stations in New Jersey (and it’s usually 30c/gallon cheaper than in New York).

Nope, his plates were Ontario plates.  And that may have been the reason why he couldn’t get gasoline from his credit card.  See, Hess stations require the credit card user to enter the card’s billing zip code.  That’s five numbers.  But in Canada, the postal equivalent of a zip code contains a combination of six letters and numbers.  So naturally he’s having trouble punching in his postal code in a gas pump that is just looking for five digits.

He was looking frustrated.  And I could see his frustration.  I’ve had trouble using my credit cards at gas pumps in Canada, I usually have to go to the mini-market and pre-pay.

“Having trouble there?” I asked.

“It’s just not reading my card properly,” he said.

“Let me take a look,” I replied.  I pulled out my credit card, cleared his transaction attempts, and swiped my card in the machine.

“Okay,” I said.  “Start pumping.”

“But – ”

“You’re from Ontario?”

“Yeah.  Heading back there tonight.”

“Where do you live?”  I kept talking with him, as his gas tank filled with 87 octane Hess fuel.

“Toronto.”

“You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“I know.  But my wife’s from Watervliet.  And now it’s time for us to go home to Toronto for Christmas.”

“Are you from Toronto or from one of the cities around there?”

Come on, say one of the National Basketball League of Canada cities…

“We’re near Mississauga.”

Ding.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of the Mississauga Power?”

“Yes we have.”

Aces.

The pump finally stopped.  His car must have been down to the fumes, those Pontiacs only have about an 11-gallon fuel cell and it looked like he pumped in 10.9 gallons.

“You’re all set, man,” I replied.  “Merry Christmas.”

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“Drive home safe,” I said as I went into the minimart.  “That’s all you owe me.”  And with that, my random act of kindness was complete.

Look, I didn’t give this guy a full tank of gas just so I could blog about it.  I felt that after the last few days I needed at least one nice thing to happen.  And if it couldn’t happen to me, let it at least happen to someone else.

Everybody wants to get home to their loved ones for Christmas.  And maybe down the road, he’ll pass along that random act of kindness to another motorist.

Maybe to some American who’s having trouble using the gas pumps at the local Couche-Tard or Ultramar.