"I'm a woman, and I can pump my own gas."
Today marks the day of my freedom and independence after years of oppression. Today, my parents let me drive the car alone for the first time. And for those of you who know my age, I know -- it's pathetic. This is what happens when you are the female only-child of a Chinese, Christian family; it's similar to living under a Communist regime. For years, my dad insisted that I was not ready to drive by myself and so, if I wanted to drive, he would sit in the passenger's seat instructing me to stop at stop signs and accelerate at the green light, while gripping the door handle nervously until his knuckles turned white. He was, no joke, scared for his life every time I drove.
I decided to stop at the gas station to fill up the tank. I've seen it done a number of times -- the task appeared simple enough. I even remembered my driving instructor showing me once. No problem, right? I pulled up and positioned the car with confidence, ready for this new experience. Only, for some reason, the gas pump was stuck. It wouldn't come out no matter how hard I pulled! Confused, I retraced the event of my driving instructor showing me how to pump gas -- of course, he just took out the nozzle without complication. I searched around for instructions, but to no avail. But of course, who needs instructions on how to pump gas? (Me). I concluded that the stupid thing was broken, got back into the car, and pulled up next to another gas tank. I hope no one saw. But wait. This gas pump wouldn't come out either! I wrestled with it for a good few minutes before I gave up. I stood there, perplexed. I debated leaving the gas station altogether. But by this time, people already noticed me standing in front of my gas tank...and not pumping gas. I couldn't leave now. A muffled male voice came from the loud speaker:
"Lift up the lever"
Entrenched in my confusion, I paid no attention to my surroundings and thought nothing of the voice. I just wanted to get my gas and go. I continued staring at my gas tank, wondering why everyone else could pump gas but me. Faced with great temptation to talk to my gas tank, coax it, plead with it, the same voice from the loud speaker sounded again, this time loud and clear:
"Maam. Lift up the lever. You have to lift the lever, maam. The lever."
Oh no. He was talking to me!The lever? Ohhh. The lever. I looked around to see who was looking at me. Everyone. I quickly pumped around five dollars worth of gas, sheepishly paid for it and drove off.
Mental note to self: never pump from that station again.
Today marks the day of my freedom and independence after years of oppression. Today, my parents let me drive the car alone for the first time. And for those of you who know my age, I know -- it's pathetic. This is what happens when you are the female only-child of a Chinese, Christian family; it's similar to living under a Communist regime. For years, my dad insisted that I was not ready to drive by myself and so, if I wanted to drive, he would sit in the passenger's seat instructing me to stop at stop signs and accelerate at the green light, while gripping the door handle nervously until his knuckles turned white. He was, no joke, scared for his life every time I drove.
I decided to stop at the gas station to fill up the tank. I've seen it done a number of times -- the task appeared simple enough. I even remembered my driving instructor showing me once. No problem, right? I pulled up and positioned the car with confidence, ready for this new experience. Only, for some reason, the gas pump was stuck. It wouldn't come out no matter how hard I pulled! Confused, I retraced the event of my driving instructor showing me how to pump gas -- of course, he just took out the nozzle without complication. I searched around for instructions, but to no avail. But of course, who needs instructions on how to pump gas? (Me). I concluded that the stupid thing was broken, got back into the car, and pulled up next to another gas tank. I hope no one saw. But wait. This gas pump wouldn't come out either! I wrestled with it for a good few minutes before I gave up. I stood there, perplexed. I debated leaving the gas station altogether. But by this time, people already noticed me standing in front of my gas tank...and not pumping gas. I couldn't leave now. A muffled male voice came from the loud speaker:
"Lift up the lever"
Entrenched in my confusion, I paid no attention to my surroundings and thought nothing of the voice. I just wanted to get my gas and go. I continued staring at my gas tank, wondering why everyone else could pump gas but me. Faced with great temptation to talk to my gas tank, coax it, plead with it, the same voice from the loud speaker sounded again, this time loud and clear:
"Maam. Lift up the lever. You have to lift the lever, maam. The lever."
Oh no. He was talking to me!The lever? Ohhh. The lever. I looked around to see who was looking at me. Everyone. I quickly pumped around five dollars worth of gas, sheepishly paid for it and drove off.
Mental note to self: never pump from that station again.
posted by Rebecca at
9:54 PM
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