You know that I’m pretty sold on Boston already. Between the good grocery store, the terrific job, and the not-heinous drivers’ license, I don’t have a lot to complain about.
Except one thing: full-service gas stations.
Every single gas station I’ve been to here has an attendant who runs up to fill up your tank when you pull in. And I hate it.
I want to pump my own gas. I don’t want to have to tell the guy a dollar amount of gas I want; I just want to fill my own tank up until it’s completely full and the nozzle shuts off. I want to just push the lowest grade of gasoline button in peace, rather than having to admit out loud that I never ever ever buy a better grade of gas.
Just like it did when I was sixteen, pumping my own gas makes me feel like an adult (it doesn’t take a lot for me, does it?).
I know by looking online that there are a few gas stations around here that are not full-service but are indeed self-serve, so I know it’s not a law here like it is in other states.
And you can bet the second I finish this post, I’m going to find out where they are and only go there from now on.
Until it’s winter, of course, at which point I’ll probably be praising this full-service system like there’s no tomorrow.