On our way home from Anchorage today, we stopped for gas at the last reasonably-priced station, the Carrs’ on Huffman Road. I pulled up to the pumps, nose to nose with a Prius.
As I started filling the tank, I overheard a conversation between the Prius driver (a middle-aged woman) and the young man filling up his Ford compact pick-up (marked “For Sale–$900 OBO”) on the other side of the pump.
“Here’s two more dollars,” she said. “You’ll get a little more for that.”
When she finished filling the Prius, she took the gas hose from her car and started filling his truck.
She started to pull away as I was tearing off my receipt. The young man called after her, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” The cynic in me thought he was going to hit her up for something else. The romantic in me was worried that this beautiful interchange would be marred in some way.
“Your gas cap’s not closed,” he said. And there it was, dangling, bouncing against the side of her car.
She stopped, he closed the gas cap, she thanked him, and went on her way.