We stopped off at a garage on the way home, I needed diesel and the fridge needed milk. And we all needed a box of Tunnocks Tea Cakes. £56-odd at pump 4, you just have to blank it out really.
There were a few other comings and goings on the forecourt while I was at the pump and as I faffed around in the shop, which wasn’t the best stocked. But when I’d had enough aimless shuffling I just decided I now had all I needed and went to the till.
Pump 2?
Naw, it’s pump 4.
Er… what’s happened to pump 2…
What, has someone done a runner? I saw someone at pump 3 next to me but…
She was too distracted to hear me.
How much was…
£56-something, pump 4.
Oh my god, I know what I’ve done, that last customer’s paid for your fuel.
Ah. I said.
I waited to see what was going to happen next, I had a sleeping four year old and a Joycee with a rapidly draining iPhone battery in the motor outside, I wasn’t hanging about at the counter while a drama unfolded that I didn’t buy a ticket for.
She looked outside, back at the till, at me and back outside. I know… she said slowly, You can pay for their fuel…
Oh aye? I enquired, preparing dig my heels and wallet in at the boundary.
That’s £58 in total.
Sold to the man in the Black Sabbath t-shirt. £52 for their fuel plus my groceries, I made money on the deal.
The lassie behind the counter couldn’t get me sorted and out of the shop fast enough and I wasn’t going to fight her for the right to pay the extra, how could I anyway? The computer said it was all done at pump 4 before I even got to the counter, the computer said no.
Will the other motorist notice? Unlikely, I know how many times I’ve arrived at the till barely remembering what pump I was just at never mind how much fuel I’d just put in. So there’s a lesson for us all here, concentrate or you might just get humped.
On Monday, I saw a purse lying on the road when a car drove over it and it bounced in the air shedding some of its contents. I pulled over, reversed back and scooped it up, sticking the cards and keys back inside. I took it straight to the polis office just up the road to hand it in, hoping the owner might be local and head to the same place.
The boy behind the counter looked slightly dismayed, “I’ll get the book…” “Sometimes it’s easier to just leave it lying…” He murmered as he wandered off.
While I was waiting an old boy staggered in banging the doors, kicking the furniture and breathing like a man making the most of his last few breaths. “You okay?”
“Bastards” he said “Bastards, making me come down here to answer a summons, they should come to my house and get me, bastards”.
Indeed. Old hard men are rubbish. I went back to watching for the boy coming back which he did with expert timing.
“I’ll just ask you a few questions… Are you claiming any reward?”
He looked up and my expression answered the question for him.
“Sorry, we have to ask, you’d be surprised.”
Just imagine you’ve lost your purse or wallet, your cards, cash and house keys are in it, the panic and desperation that would instantly set in. Who the hell would want to profit from that situation?
We filled out the rest of the form and he was pleased to tell me that by doing so that I was protected against the owner claiming that I’d stolen anything from the purse before I’d returned it.
Marvellous. What an entirely unpleasant experience doing the right thing turned out to be.
I pulled into a service station once, (as you do) i’d driven nearly 500 miles and couldnt find a gas station. the fuel light had been on for a good 60 miles… anyway the attendant came out and said to me, your fuel cap is sitting on the back of your car… hte last time it was touched was when i took it off to fill up at the last station then the attendant took over but didnt replace it…. i’d just driven 60 miles through a windy mountain road, on loose metal doing hand brake turns on every wide corner i could find…… and the fuel cap had just sat there… it was an old car with a sold steel cap and a metal ridge that was resting on the car, the design was perfect for just staying put, modern designs would have rolled off the car in the first mile….
Had an “interesting” experience with Polis once myself. Pishing-wet, midnight, spotted an injured owl on the white line so spun round and picked it up. What do i do now? Local Polis station obviously and ask where the nearest animal sanctuary or vet was. Long story but it ended up with an orificer telling me that this time he wouldn’t prosecute me for being in possession of a protected animal without the correct license. He didn’t appreciate me laughing.
Aye, that’s the kind of thing that sticks with you and defines your opinion of the polis.