A gloomy Saturday afternoon in Toronto.
You know that radio telling you to stay at home with that subtext no need to head downtown to work has ordered me to fill up the gas tank as petrol prices in Toronto have “plummeted” 14 cents in the past two days.
Being accustomed to being ordered around by the radio (and well-meaning politicians and health technos) during COVID days I obey the radio waves and decide to fill up the tank with “cheap” petrol at least in these Trumpian days.
I pull into an Esso station and place the nozzle in my vehicle and commence the fill up. I had wanted to do so the previous day but there was some construction project at the petrol station reducing the number of pumps available, so I deferred the fill up to the next day. Oh, fate being so cruel!
As I fill up the car I hear a tinny advertisement emanating from the speaker about how Esso supports local children’s hockey figuring that’s the least they can do with their obscene profits.
As my mind meanders, I query why my pant leg and sneakers are wet? Have I fouled myself? Has the prostate somehow puffed up and caused incontinence?
No, the petrol is spewing from the petrol tank all over me as the safety mechanism shutting off the tank when the vehicle is full is not working.
I am a dangerous flammable object in a panic terrorized by the man across the street lighting up his cigarette!
I have most unpleasant memories of protesting Buddhist monks self immolating during the Vietnamese War!
