Neanderthals

Last night (Thursday, September 20, 2007) I went to a union-meeting of my old bus-union, Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union (“what’s Ah-Two?”)
Rather than bore my macho brother-in-Boston with reflections on what it’s like to attend a union-meeting for the first time in 4-6 years, and perhaps distract him from what he really needs to do, which is guard his beloved Porta-Johns from terrorist attack; I’ll only discuss my gas-purchase.
I took the CR-V, and it needed gas.
I could have ridden the dreaded LHMB, but doing so would have meant setting out at least 10 minutes earlier, plus riding at night.
I arrived at the Union-hall parking-lot at 7:35 p.m.; 25 minutes before meeting-start.
Having nothing to read, I set out for “the cutout,” hard by the old Water-Level, and looking for a gas-station.
I knew there was still one at Culver and Atlantic in Rochester; an old Sunoco I used to patronize driving home from Transit.
Except now it was Gulf (Gulf still exists?), and as before affiliated with a dinghy minimart.
I arrowed in and stopped at the pumps, which were “pay-at-the-pump” but unlike any I had ever seen, perhaps a most recent iteration thereof. (They looked great.)
Finally finding the well-hidden card-slot, I inserted my credit-card, and the screen flashed “debit — y/n.”
Eying the tiny keyboard I noticed “yes” and “no” buttons; and inadvertently clicked the “yes” button. (A credit-card ain’t a debit-card.)
“Insert PIN-number.”
I poked around and saw a “cancel” button, so hit that: nothing! I hit it again: nothing!
“Ain’t technology wonderful?” Into the minimart to get the help to clear the pump.
At least 40 percent of the time I go into the store to get the clerks to fix something — like no receipt when one was requested, “unable to read card,” or a lock-up of some sort. (Once the screen was displaying hieroglyphics.)
I paddle into the store, forget to ask for the colonoscopy department, and am greeted by two neanderthals standing behind row-upon-row of cigarettes (“Proof-of-Age Required”).
Obviously I was impeding an all-important discussion about pizza-toppings.
“That pump is hung,” I butted in. “Can you reset it?”
“How much gas have you pumped?”
“None, so far. I couldn’t even get that far.”
“So how much gas have you pumped?”
“None. I just told you.”
“Uh-duhhhhhh...... So how much gas have ya pumped?”
“None.”
“How much ya gonna pump?” $25? $35?”
“I don’t know. I was gonna fill it.”
“So how much have ya pumped already?”
“Tell ya what,” I said. “Gimme my card, and I’ll go somewhere else.” (I had better things to do than parry neanderthals.)
“Uh-DUH.......... Duh-YEEEE-uh........”
I walked back outside, and lo-and-behold the pump was reset.
I can’t imagine the neanderthals having the intellectual wherewithal to reset it themselves — not when they were fervently discussing pizza-toppings.
It probably reset itself automatically on a time-clock.

RE: “what’s Ah-Two?” I was in south Florida, visiting my mother in a retirement-community, and I was wearing an Amalgamated Transit Union button (ATU). She looked at me earnestly and asked “what’s Ah-Two?”

For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y. The bus-union was Local 282, Amalgamated Transit Union.

RE: “Rather than bore my macho brother-in-Boston....” and “guard his beloved Porta-Johns......” My macho brother-in-Boston has loudly declared that everything I write is “boring.” He manages a power-plant construction-site outside Boston, which includes many Porta-Potties. We always say his primary job is policing the Porta-Potties.

“The CR-V” is our 2003 Honda CR-V SUV.

“LHMB” is my 2003 Honda 600-cc CBR/RR motorcycle. Seeing a picture of it, my sister-in-Floridy declared “Lord-Have-Mercy;” and my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-guy, seeing it was yellow, pronounced it a “Banana.” So LHMB equals Lord-Have-Mercy-Banana.

“The cutout” is a prime railfaning spot east of Rochester along the old New York Central “Water-Level” mainline across New York State; called “Water-Level” because it primarily followed rivers. It didn’t cross any mountain-ranges. Compared to most of its competition, it was relatively grade-free. The “Water-Level” is now operated by CSX Transportation (railroad).

RE: “forget to ask for the colonoscopy department.....” My brother-in-Boston had his colonoscopy performed at a clinic “in the vaunted Boston healthcare system.” That clinic was in an abandoned shopping-plaza.
My colonoscopy was performed at Thompson Hospital in nearby Canandaigua, NY — proving yet again my utter inferiority.