The More I Think About It, The More I Love The Fact That You Can't Pump Your Own Gas In New Jersey
As you may have seen earlier today, Oregon just passed a law that allows citizens to pump their own gas. Good for them. I didn’t even know that people drive cars that take gas in Oregon, I just figured everybody there strictly rides a bike. But I guess I was mistaken. Regardless, I’ve been thinking about this all day considering New Jersey will still give you the death penalty if you even think about getting out of your car to pump your own gas.
Now very much like our Gas Law beat reporter Francis said earlier, I enjoy pumping my own gas. I don’t do a lot of things in life that make me feel like a man but pumping my gas is one of them. Sometimes I’ll even sprinkle a few drops on my hands just because the smell of gasoline is a pretty alpha scent and I want people to think I lead an alpha life, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. And luckily for me, I’m fortunate enough to live in the beautiful city of Philadelphia (the Paris of Pennsylvania) where I’m allowed to pump my own gas whenever the heck I want. I can put $5 in here, $5 in there, $5 in anywhere. I like to spread it out to give me more time at the pump. But then the summer rolls around and with the summer comes the Jersey Shore. It’s those few months of the year when my right to pump my own gas is stripped away from me. And you know what? I fucking love it.
Don’t get me wrong. If I lived in Jersey year round, I’d probably go crazy and have to drive myself out of the state just to pump my own gas. But for just the summer? Well it makes you feel like a king. You spend all day Saturday on the beach catching a nice tan. You go out to a bar that night and spend money that you don’t have while drinking like you’re 21 again without remembering that the hangovers are crippling now. You wake up Sunday morning and realize that suntan you thought you were getting earlier in the day is now a full blown 3rd degree burn. Your head is pounding, your skin feels like it’s about to melt off, you don’t even want to look at your bank account, and now you have to deal with that traffic going back to Philly. But for one, brief, fleeting moment you are on top of the world. Because you pull into the Wawa gas pump, roll down the window, ask for $20 regular (card because you wasted all your cash), and now you have somebody pumping your gas for you. You went from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs, and all it took was one Wawa employee treating you like the most important human on the planet and pumping your gas for you. As he’s pumping your gas, you get to sit there in your car and for just a minute or two, you can shut your eyes and pretend like everything in life is okay. It’s glorious.