Yesterday I noticed that my gas tank was almost empty, and I decided to go for a refill. As I have done it many times, I drove to the 76 station around the corner and went through the motions of paying with my regular credit card.
Then I inserted the pump’s nozzle into my gas tank and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I attempted the same familiar routine a few times without any success. I even tried another credit card, (knowing full well that there was nothing wrong with the first one), and it still did not work.
I walked into the attendant’s booth and told the young woman behind the counter that the pump was not working. As luck would have it, the young attendant (obviously foreign) answered in some barely intelligible English. I asked her to repeat, without any additional success.
Another older woman with slightly better English (but much worse manners) intervened, but I still couldn’t understand what she was saying. Shortly after, she refused to help any further.
To make matters even worse, I discovered that I could not remove the pump from my gas tank. This car, being brand new, is still keeping many secrets from me, and I did not know what to do. After a few vigorous attempts, the pump finally came out and I drove away, seething with anger.
This situation just happened to be one of my pet peeves. I bear no particular grudge against foreign-born individuals, but if you don’t speak English, you have no business dealing with the public. I understand that everybody needs a job, but if you cannot converse in the local lingo, you should find some manual labor where you would not have to speak to anybody. I am fully cognizant of this situation because upon my arrival in the US, my first job was as a dishwasher. And rightfully so, because then, handicapped by a heavy French accent, I could barely comprehend or say anything in English. I had no business talking to anybody.
But as we used to say in my old neighborhood, Le hasard fait bien les choses… After returning home, I enlisted my wife to come along (and maybe offer some suggestions) and I drove to another gas station.
Then, miracle of miracles, the gods smiled on me. I discovered that the gas there was 25 cents cheaper than in my regular station… and I had absolutely no problem with my credit card or pulling out the pump from my gas tank.
I don’t hate “immigrants” but the first duty of any foreign national who resettles in a new country is to learn the local language. Absolutely no excuses for not doing so. If you are too lazy to do this, stay home and watch cartoons.
Useless to say that I totally divorced my regular gas station and that I will never attempt any reconciliation. The break is final… and I will keep the dog.
Alain