Something new I learned in my seventies

Last Friday morning, I drove to the Valero at the corner of Rochester and 32 Mile Roads. I aimed to gas up my car and mow the front lawn before I drove to Lake Orion for lunch at noon with my older sister.

Well, the establishment resembled Grand Central Station, the pull of Michigan’s fine weather to roads north evident, with recreation vehicles attached to various makes and models of cars, trucks, and campers.

A man stood by a large, black pickup before my favorite tank, #14.

So, I parked before gas pump #19, thankful for my little Prius and its economical mileage. For, in such fine weather, this 2017 model could reach fifty miles a gallon, or more.

Then, when I opened my door, I realized I forgot to put the gas cans in the car.

Oh well, this will work out for my good, I determined.

I walked inside the station’s store, customers galore carrying Subway bags. I paid cash for my gas and walked back to my car.

Something seemed out of sync when I pulled open by hand the gas tank door. And since my last visit the prior week, the station had upgraded all the gas tanks.

As usual, I pressed the 87 button, inserted the nozzle into my car’s fuel tank, and pressed the handle. The tank regurgitated the fuel.

I returned the gas nozzle to the tank and revisited the cashier with my complication.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. There’s an attendant outside,” she said.

I flagged down the young woman with purple hair. After several efforts to successfully fill my car’s tank, we both gave up. My gas gauge registered almost half a tank.

Uncertain what might be wrong with my car, I canceled my luncheon with my sister and called Fox Toyota service. The employee had no idea what would cause the gas to regurgitate from the tank.

“We have an 8:20 a.m. available Monday morning,” the employee said. “If they cannot finish the diagnosis and repair the problem by the end of the day, you may rent a car for $60 a day. We’re not open Saturday or Sunday.”

“I’ll take the 8:20 appointment and hope my car’s repaired by the time you close,” I said.

Later that morning, my brother-in-law, my late husband’s younger brother and excellent auto mechanic, called to check in.

Although he didn’t know what caused my gas tank to refuse the fuel, he suggested to try gassing up again to avoid the dealership expense.

So, I drove to Valero with gas cans in my car. Meanwhile, I recalled my steps the prior visit.

Yes! I didn’t use the fuel door release button beneath the steering wheel.

Who was is who coined that annoying adage, “There’s a first time for everything”?

Dear Reader, I stopped before tank #14, turned off the ignition, and pressed the fuel pump button.

The unmistakable “pop” of the opening tank provoked a smile.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll call the dealership’s service to cancel my appointment. If the employee is interested, I’ll explain what this seventy-something recalled and learned about the Prius gas tank.

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com