Scene: I frantically look for gas that is less than four dollars a gallon. Spotting a station that is boasting $3.89, I careen across four lanes of traffic and pull up to the pump. Being a good Jersey girl, I wait for the attendant. Jersey girls never pump their own gas. (Ok, no one in Jersey pumps their own gas. One of the myriad perks of living in the Garden State.) Enter gas attendant.
Me: Hi! Fill it with regular, please.
Gas Station Guy: Ay, mami. Habla usted Espanol?
Me: Uh…A little…Un poquito. Muy, muy poquito.
GSG: *laughs* I teach you, mami. I teach you good.
Me: Yeah…uh, here’s my card.
GSG: *ignores my outstretched credit card* I teach you after we get married. You marry me, mami? Usted esta tan caliente. You so hot.
Me: *nervous laughter* Uh…gracias. Here’s my card.
GSG: *takes card, starts pumping gas. From the back of the car, he’s still talking.* Caliente, mami! You marry me, okay?
Me: *I do not respond, as I watch the dollar signs clang on the gas pump. Wide eyed from horror at the price tag of this tank of gas, which would be plenty for me to live on for a week in different circumstances, I finally realize he is STILL TALKING.*
GSG: *handing my wounded credit card back* We get married, mami. I take care of you. Te quiero, hermosa señora. I love you.
Me: *pauses* Would I get free gas?