Saturday, June 16, 2007
What A Pro-Pain
Things have been crazy around Casa de Crime Dog of late, hence the dearth of posts. I have good story, a few minutes this afternoon, and a bad attitude, so here I am.
First off - GO DEVILS! There. Now, off to my story.
I love to grill. Always have. I have waivered back and forth over the years between gas grills and charcoal grills. I love the taste of food cooked with charcoal, but I also love the convenience of propane. At this particular time, convenience wins out over taste, and I'm using propane. OK, go ahead and dig out all your smart ass remarks about me spraying one grill with industrial adhesive and blowing up another one. I can take it. You done now? Good.
A few years ago, I took an empty tank to my local Circle K to have it refilled. The clerk was well-intentioned and polite, but seemed to know jack shit about filling a propane tank. He screwed around with first one knob, then another, stuck a screwdriver in some openings, and generally sprayed enough propane into the atmosphere to give Al Gore a conniption. I grew more and more concerned, and moved further and further away from this kid until I was on the far side of the parking lot from him and his huge tank of volatile gas. My car remained dangerously close, but it's insured. At length, he filled the tank and I took it home. As I hooked it up, I couldn't help but wonder if I was about to suffer a horrible, flaming death. Needless to say, it was fine. This scenario was repeated several times annually, each time with a different but equally inept clerk. Each time, I wondered how they had managed so far to avoid blowing up that particular corner of Gilbert.
And then there was the time I went to have the tank filled, but the Circle K was so busy, they guy said he just didn't have time to fill tanks. He could do an "exchange," which was more expensive, but much faster. So I paid the extra cash, took an exchange, and was home in record time without having feared in any way whatsoever for my life. I liked that. So, I've just been doing the exchanges ever since. Perhaps the minimum wage flunkies who fill the exchange tanks are equally inept as the Circle K clerks, but at least I don't have to watch them sentence me to a fiery death.
Until today, that is. I arrived at the Circle K just a step behind a lady who needed a refill. I told the clerk I would just do an exchange and be on my way, but it didn't work out that way. He took care of her refill before even looking for the keys to the exchange tanks. Like it would have killed him to just hand me a freaking tank on his way out the door. At least I was already on the far side of the lot as he filled up her tank, safely away from the blast zone.
Finally, it was my turn. But the guy couldn't find the keys. He screwed around with one key ring for a while, went back into the store, got another key ring, screwed around with that one, still couldn't open the sonofabitch.
You know, all this sort of defeats the purpose of getting an exchange.
"What does?"
I pointed at the rack of exchange tanks, which displayed a sign boasting "Why wait for a refill?"
All this screwing around.
"Sorry. I've only been here a week."
Gee. I feel so much better.
The guy heads into the store to look for a third key ring.
Stop! Just fill this one up, OK?
"No problem!"
So, here I go again. The guy hooks up the dangerous-looking filler, turns a lever, and all I hear is a hiss that sounds like a ruptured air compressor. He turns it off, disconnects it, screws around with it, and then.....grabs my tank, lifts it several inches off the ground, and slams it back down onto the asphalt. Three times. By now, I'm across the street at Walgreens. I don't know what this last maneuver can possibly accomplish, other than generating sparks between the metal base and the asphalt, whirs is a decidedly unfavorable outcome when you're standing next to a huge propane tank that just spewed out a couple of cubic yards of highly flammable gas.
He hooked it all back up and successfully completed the refill.
"OK, let's go inside, and I'll refund your money for the exchange and ring up the refill."
No, really. It's fine. I just want to go home and cook my chicken. Really. Please.
When this tank is empty, I'm going to buy a charcoal grill.
|
First off - GO DEVILS! There. Now, off to my story.
I love to grill. Always have. I have waivered back and forth over the years between gas grills and charcoal grills. I love the taste of food cooked with charcoal, but I also love the convenience of propane. At this particular time, convenience wins out over taste, and I'm using propane. OK, go ahead and dig out all your smart ass remarks about me spraying one grill with industrial adhesive and blowing up another one. I can take it. You done now? Good.
A few years ago, I took an empty tank to my local Circle K to have it refilled. The clerk was well-intentioned and polite, but seemed to know jack shit about filling a propane tank. He screwed around with first one knob, then another, stuck a screwdriver in some openings, and generally sprayed enough propane into the atmosphere to give Al Gore a conniption. I grew more and more concerned, and moved further and further away from this kid until I was on the far side of the parking lot from him and his huge tank of volatile gas. My car remained dangerously close, but it's insured. At length, he filled the tank and I took it home. As I hooked it up, I couldn't help but wonder if I was about to suffer a horrible, flaming death. Needless to say, it was fine. This scenario was repeated several times annually, each time with a different but equally inept clerk. Each time, I wondered how they had managed so far to avoid blowing up that particular corner of Gilbert.
And then there was the time I went to have the tank filled, but the Circle K was so busy, they guy said he just didn't have time to fill tanks. He could do an "exchange," which was more expensive, but much faster. So I paid the extra cash, took an exchange, and was home in record time without having feared in any way whatsoever for my life. I liked that. So, I've just been doing the exchanges ever since. Perhaps the minimum wage flunkies who fill the exchange tanks are equally inept as the Circle K clerks, but at least I don't have to watch them sentence me to a fiery death.
Until today, that is. I arrived at the Circle K just a step behind a lady who needed a refill. I told the clerk I would just do an exchange and be on my way, but it didn't work out that way. He took care of her refill before even looking for the keys to the exchange tanks. Like it would have killed him to just hand me a freaking tank on his way out the door. At least I was already on the far side of the lot as he filled up her tank, safely away from the blast zone.
Finally, it was my turn. But the guy couldn't find the keys. He screwed around with one key ring for a while, went back into the store, got another key ring, screwed around with that one, still couldn't open the sonofabitch.
You know, all this sort of defeats the purpose of getting an exchange.
"What does?"
I pointed at the rack of exchange tanks, which displayed a sign boasting "Why wait for a refill?"
All this screwing around.
"Sorry. I've only been here a week."
Gee. I feel so much better.
The guy heads into the store to look for a third key ring.
Stop! Just fill this one up, OK?
"No problem!"
So, here I go again. The guy hooks up the dangerous-looking filler, turns a lever, and all I hear is a hiss that sounds like a ruptured air compressor. He turns it off, disconnects it, screws around with it, and then.....grabs my tank, lifts it several inches off the ground, and slams it back down onto the asphalt. Three times. By now, I'm across the street at Walgreens. I don't know what this last maneuver can possibly accomplish, other than generating sparks between the metal base and the asphalt, whirs is a decidedly unfavorable outcome when you're standing next to a huge propane tank that just spewed out a couple of cubic yards of highly flammable gas.
He hooked it all back up and successfully completed the refill.
"OK, let's go inside, and I'll refund your money for the exchange and ring up the refill."
No, really. It's fine. I just want to go home and cook my chicken. Really. Please.
When this tank is empty, I'm going to buy a charcoal grill.
