I shopped at Costco the other day but it was crazy busy — usually the case on any given Sunday. After loading up my car, I remembered I needed gas — badly. The needle was well below empty so I figured: Costco gas! It was a logical choice, had the lines not been so damn long.
After a long wait I got to the pump, but my Costco card didn’t work!
It had JUST worked in the store!
I tried, I cancelled, I tried, I cancelled, I pushed the help button (several times) but there was no attendant in sight!
The people behind were becoming impatient and obviously annoyed at the silly girl with the Boston sports stickers on her car. “Give it up, Boston! Move on! It isn’t working!” they THOUGHT at me — I’m sure of it!
But I had just WAITED all that time in line and there was SUPPOSED to be an attendant there! Then, I remembered my special power! I whistled loudly enough to wake the dead; loudly enough to make people around me cringe and hold their ears. (If there’s one thing I can do it’s whistle.)
Finally, way over yonder across the multiple gas pumps was an old man (a Bob Newhart look-alike) who began to shuffle in my direction very, very slowly.
It took Bob five looooong minutes to reach me, and during that time the people behind me were becoming more and more enraged, but not at me any more — at Bob who was, fortunately, oblivious to their wrath.
Eventually Bob Newhart got my Costco card to work.
It should have been smooth sailing from that point on, but then I cut my finger on the new fangled gas pump. It bled all the way home, but I didn’t care. I was relieved to be away from the hostile motorists, and Bob.
I don’t think I’ll go to Costco again on a Sunday — not unless they get some spry young kid to cover the gas pumps.
If you can think of a more suitable job for Bob Newhart at Costco, I’ll gladly suggest it to HR.