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I was recently greeted with the following man-made sign along with a digital “Welcome” screen at the local BP Gas Station .

Hand made sign reads:

• “All Pumps Are Prepay“

On-Screen Instructions read:

• Pay Here - Debit
• Pay Here - Credit
• Pay Inside /  Help

My first thought was that I had to go inside to pay - no matter what payment method I was tendering.  After several failed attempts to select an option using the ‘guitar pick’  black buttons,  I dragged my ‘end-of-a-long-day‘ ass into the station.

BP:  Hello.  How can I help you?
Me:  I guess I need to prepay for gas?
BP:  Only for cash and credit cards.
Me: The screen is not allowing me to make any selections though.

The nice, 4′11″ man-boy walked me out to the pump, took a look at the screen and motioned for me to insert my credit card. As I removed my card from my wallet, I looked at him and said, “The screen says nothing about inserting a card FIRST to make a payment selection.” To which he nodded and said, “Yes, I know.”

This tidbit of information was the Holy Grail I needed that was otherwise not being communicated to me via the digital, fossil fuel filler.  Once I inserted my card, Voila!  I was able to select my fuel grade, insert the nozzle (albeit not into man-boy’s receptacle) and get on with the simple frigging task of putting gas in my car.  (Sidebar:  it’s 6 degrees below zero).   He was nice lad and handed me the nozzle.
I’ve used a few gas pumps in my time,  since I started driving back in… the day. But this has got to be the most backward, unintuitive, crunked-up graphical user interface I’ve ever come across.

Keep in mind this gas station was acquired by BP within the last six months and all the pumps are brand new and ’state of the art’.   Riddle me this, Batman:  With all the digital programming wizardry these money sucking fuel dispensers come with, why can’t Man-Boy Owners  everywhere program consumer friendly, ACCURATE messages on those pretty digital screens?  Instead they feel compelled to regress to 6th grade and plaster half-assed, confusing, four word mandates held up with weather beaten, sticky residue laden, Scotch tape!  This,  coupled with a computerized Welcome Screen designed by one of Dian Fossey’s gorillas, turns a 5 minute stop into a 10 minute pain in my backside.

My take?  It’s a conspiracy to confuse the pay-at-the-pump consumer, forcing them to walk inside the gas station, buy a stale hot dog, beef jerky stick, or a Mountain Dew and score an otherwise lost sale for the owners.

What kind of gas station stories do you have?

Java Jungle.  A God send for parents with hyper rug rats.  When the weather won’t allow your kids to play outside,  this two-story,  multi-level,  indoor jungle gym is the answer.  Guaranteed to burn 200 calories every 15 minutes and extend the mid-day naps of tikes everywhere.  A free, wireless Internet connection allows parents with laptops the ability to surf the web between bathroom breaks and juice box replenishment (this place also makes a mean pretzel bread and cheese  sandwich).

After you sign in, everyone migrates to the coat room where kids store their jackets and everyone - parents included - leave their shoes behind in numbered bins.  The play area is a ‘ socks only’ joint.  Today I noticed some rule breakers.  Adult rule breakers.  Keep in mind a large winter storm just  hammered our locale with 8+ inches of snow, so the entry way and coat room floors were a bit of a wet mess.  This takes some careful tip-toe negotiating, as one does not want to incur wet socks for the subsiquent 2 hour romp.  I was looking forward to getting into the ’socks only’ dry zone and setting up my computer.  Apparently there were some parents who didn’t want to get their hosiery wet by KEEPING THEIR SHOES ON.  Go figure.

There’s a Japanese tradition where  shoes are left outside the doorway of a ‘Shofuso’.   Evidently any remnants of this ancient practice were cast aside while entering Java Jungle today - at least with our Asian friends who were hosting a birthday party.  For shame.

Then there was the (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) father who arrived in sneakers and sat down behind me - in the aforementioned ‘no shoe’ zone.   As his child voiced concern about stepping in something wet, his reply struck me as I heard him utter, “No hun,  daddy’s shoes are dry.”

I managed to leave Java Jungle with dry socks today.  Although my 3 1/2 year old managed to soak his shirt, pants AND socks from a drinking fountain, water spitting contest.  Ah, the best laid plans…