The dangers of the self-service gas pump

It’s been a few years since the first time I ventured out of New Jersey state lines, but the first time I did, it went a little something like this:

I was following my mother down I-95 en route to South Carolina to visit relatives, and somewhere around Virginia I needed to stop for gas. I pulled into the station as my mother continued on the interstate, figuring I’d only be about five minutes.

Wrong, so, so wrong.

About 20 minutes after stopping at the station I get a phone call from my mother asking me what was taking so long.

“I’m waiting around for the stupid gas attendant, and he’s obviously taking forever,” I replied matter-of-factly, and clearly disgruntled.

My mother broke out into hysterics.

“They don’t pump gas for you in other states, Jenna,” she said.

“What?!?!” was the initial knee-jerk thought in my head. The second, “…so, what do I do?” as I stared at the pump station like it was the DeLorean (for all you “Back to the Future” fans).

My mother had to turn around and come back to where I was to properly show me how to pump my own gas. I immediately jumped onto the “I’m from New Jersey, we pump our fists and not our gas” train, and have been full speed ahead ever since.

I obviously have no choice in the matter when I’m outside my home state, but agonize about it every single time, and live for those small vacations at home when I get to throw my credit card out of my window and say, “fill it regular, please.” Because five minutes later, my tank is full, and I’m on my way.

Here, my gaslight is on well before I make it to the gas station, just because I don’t want to get out and do it myself. Lazy? Maybe a little.

And don’t get me started about having to exit my vehicle to pump my gas during the winter. It is cruel and unusual punishment.

Cold weather gas pumping isn’t necessarily a problem in Louisiana, but the massive bugs that wait for me in dozens as I fill up on U.S. Highway 90, are. It’s like playing a game of beat the clock. If I can successfully swipe my debit card and put the nozzle in my gas tank before 50 “mosquito hawks,” or whatever crazy dinosaur-hybrid bugs come bottle-rocketing at my face, I win.

Just in case you were wondering, I always lose. And I always go home upset, and with a cramp in my hand from holding the nozzle too tight. With gas prices so high, I have to wonder, who would WANT to pump his or her own gas? In Jersey, gas attendants even pull out the window squeegee to clean your windshield for free. And no, you don’t have to tip them. Who could refuse that?

I recently watched a video on NJ.com where a reporter interviewed out-of-staters, asking them if they thought it was weird NJ has full-service pump stations.

Some guy from Connecticut, sporting a Santa Claus beard, and an even longer gray ponytail told Jersey to “get with the times” and start pumping our own gas.

Really, Mr. Connecticut? New Jersey passed the law to ban self-service gas pumping in 1949, which is probably the same year you stopped cutting your hair and shaving. Maybe when you “get with the times” and introduce yourself to a fresh pair of clippers, we’ll think about pumping our own gas.

And until then, I will continue voicing my discontent for having to do this chore myself. Do you know how many germs are on that gas pump nozzle? The guys who pump gas in NJ wear gloves, so, it has to be a lot.

Personally, I think the other 48 states (Oregon being the other state with full-service pumps) should bring gas attendants to all stations. It would be a service to the unemployed and the germaphobes everywhere. I mean, you all down here don’t even have to get out of the car for a daiquiri, so why gas?