Fill 'er Up

Let's go back to talking about men I used to love. That was pleasant.


So the other day, who decided to add me as a Facebook friend? That's right. Chevron. Remember him? Personally, I don't know how you could forget. But just in case you did, or just in case you're an avid reader and have looked for the actual story online rather than hearing it from me in person (like all my old Excel co-workers had the privilege of doing two days after it happened), then let me give you a refresher:
Years back, when I was working in the Salt Lake City, the whole country was affected by a little natural disaster called Hurricane Katrina. Now, I don't want to pretend I suffered one bit-- especially compared to the people of the Gulf Coast-- but I do remember there was a lot of grumbling about gas prices.
At the time, if you purchased $50 or more in groceries from the Macey's on 13th East, you'd receive a coupon for 5 cents off per gallon at the Chevron station across the street. Now, you must understand I'm really more of a Phillips 66 kind of girl, but I wasn't making the big bucks, so I took advantage of the coupon use one fateful night. To qualify for the discount, the customer was obliged to pay inside the filling station/convenience store, rather than at the pump. But once I walked in to that tiny Chevron, things were never the same for me.
There he was in all his glory-- huge hair, Rastafarian music, bad attitude. Ah. Adam. But I called him Chevron. It probably was really condescending (ironic, given I was the biggest pee-on at Excel), but he humored me. He looked so young! I reasoned he had to be at least 21 to sell alcohol to all the nasties who frequented his gas station, so I tried to feel better. In reality, he is only five days younger than I am (yes, that means he is currently 30 and sexy, just like me!), but it wouldn't have mattered. I was enamored immediately.
Over the next few months, I found myself shopping at Macey's all the time, and buying way more groceries than I needed-- especially considering I was a Weight Watchers Champ at the time. But I needed excuses to fill up. And heaven forbid there was someone else working at the Chevron when I needed gas. I think on those occasions I probably went down to Harmons' and used THEIR coupon, but only enough to get me to work and back a couple of days so I could hit the Chevron again. Just kidding. I actually did NOT do that, but it would have given the story a bit of stalker-chic-ness, right?
Anyway, time passed by, and Chevy and I got to know one another. One night I'd comment on the music playing in the store. On another occasion, we'd talk about some other nonsense. On a night I was feeling particularly brave, I ended up hanging out with him for about an hour. Business was slow, and he offered me a lot of the old food he'd have to throw out anyway. I declined, but asked him to tell me more about himself. I asked him if he'd ever gotten in trouble with his boss because of something he'd been caught doing on a security camera. Like what? He asked. "I don't know, making out?" "Not yet," he said, clearly thinking he was in. So I said too bad, and quickly excused myself from the gas station. Oh, how clever I was at planting that little seed! Of course, you have to remember I was and AM a really good Mormon girl (don't ask me how I managed to start this little affair with practically the only non-LDS person in Utah, but it's just my luck), so it took me a long time to even decide if I could follow through with my teasing.
What put me over the edge was an award-- my friend Eric had this UGLY statue he called the Kissing Kitty. There were all kinds of rules and regulations, but there was a nice little email club and people would get announcements when the kitty was passed on to its next recipient. One night at a party, I bragged, "Oh, I'm totally going to get the kitty." I'm sure no one believed me-- even I was incredulous.
But it was a Saturday night, and Saturday is a special day. On the way home from the party I needed to gas up the minivan and go to Macey's to feed my addiction, so I stopped off at the Texaco (nee Maverick) where Chevron also worked (apparently today he is a manager at a 7-11 somewhere, so I feel like he's found something he's really good at and he's sticking with it). I was, at the time, a wise woman of 25, and unstoppable.
I sauntered in to the station and made smalltalk. I tried to ignore the Neanderthal working with Chev, and also hoped he'd pick up the slack with the customers while I flirted with my paramour.

"How was your birthday?" I asked innocently.
"It was OK," he said.
"Just OK? That seems a little sad. What did you do?"
"Well, I had to work, but my mother made me a cake."
"That's nice," I said. "I'd actually planned on stopping in to say hi, but right after my birthday I got a cold. Of course, I'm good now. I'm on antibiotics, so I'm pretty sure I'm not contagious."

*PAUSE*: This is the kind of over sharing I'm known for because my mouth often works faster than my brain. Still, at the time, I used it to my advantage:

"Still," I continued, "I wish there was something I could do for you." I was paying for my gasoline at the time, and I pulled out a crisp George Washington. "Here's a dollar."
He laughed. "I don't want your money."
I think I amped up the charm by using a frownsmile and said, "OK, here are the keys to my van."
"Wow," he said. "Would I get to keep the van too?"
I pretended to feel defeated. "Oops. I kind of need to keep that so I can get to work. I guess I could just give you a birthday kiss."
"I'd like that," he said dreamily.

BUT THEN a motorcycle gang came in to buy their Corona or whatever it was they were drinking. I just know it wasn't Diet Coke with Lime. Anyway, Cro-Magnon couldn't be bothered to take care of the Wild Hogs, so I had to hang back lamely, pretending to be supremely interested in the surprising large array of prisms available for purchase at the Texaco counter. The Old Rachel Sego would have shrunk. The timid me wanted to flee. Did I really need the kitty? Oh, yes, YES I did. I kept my feet planted and asked the Fonz didn't he think that cute boy behind the counter should buy me the prism with the cut-glass muscle car in it?
Anyway, the mid-life crisis crew finally left with their booze and their bikes (one of them was kind enough to offer me a ride, but I declined) and I went back to working my magic. I eased down the counter and met up with Chevron behind the Otis Spunkmeyer display and just planted one on him. And then I said, "I've got to go buy groceries." And I left. With him leaning over the counter like he'd just been hit with a bat in the face. Only his face wasn't bloody. It was handsome as ever, and so much more, because he had this amazed look on it that I now recognize as post-kissing-Rachel-elation (I've seen it dozens of times since).
Needless to say, our friendship didn't really turn out to be much more exciting, though there were several other kissing episodes (including one time in a freezer, which was interesting) and I got several free car washes out of the deal. A year after I moved, I went to the SLC for Vanessa's wedding and stopped in for gas. He was still there and had grown a beard. In truth, he looked a bit like Charles Manson, but my heart still skipped a beat. Chevron!
The years have gone by and we've moved along with our lives, but you know what? I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for the man. In the times we hung out away from the gas stations, I learned he was a thoughtful, intelligent, caring person. He made me feel good about myself, and he was supremely respectful of my beliefs. The chapter has long-since closed, but social networking has allowed us a happy look back.
The lesson: Go kiss the boy in the gas station. It'll change your life for the better (though you may randomly get a call from someone claiming to be his girlfriend, telling you he's in jail, sometime down the road-- don't worry, she's exaggerating a traffic citation).