I went to fill up my scoot this afternoon at my usual station. I know most of the pump jockeys there by name, but today there was a face I hadn't seen before by the name of Given. I open the seat, remove the cap and place it under the lip of the luggage basin so it won't get lost.
"Given, please fill it up with 95 octane. It will take no more than 6 litres."
I begin a conversation with another pump jockey there who shares a first name with me. We converse, watching Given at his task. I glance at the rolling dial on the pump as it gets to 5.5 litres and rolling merrily.
"Given, slow down... it will only take 6 litres !"
Given grins at me and then looks down, but the delivery rate doesn't change.
Suddenly, fuel spurts from the rim of the filler, spewing all over the rear of the Vespa !
"Yoh, yoh, yoh!"
Given says as he pulls the nozzle out of the filler, spewing even more fuel out over my baby and into the luggage tub !!!
I look at the volume dial on the pump - 6.27 litres.
I know exactly
where that 0.27 litres went...
Instead of a quick fuel stop, I had to get the back half of my baby washed down using windscreen spray and unpack the contents of my luggage tub so it could air dry. Only then could I proceed onward
without the risk of fuel fumes igniting in the engine bay.
Twenty minutes of my life stolen by a second or two of stupidity.
My namesake apologized and helped to clean up the F-up!
Given just stood there silently, awkwardly waiting for me to pay for the fuel.