I have been driving cars for more than thirty years.
I have owned a ’67 VW Squareback, a ’79 Honda Prelude (to what?), a ’65 Ford Galaxie 500, a ’73 Beetle, a ’89 Honda Civic (first new car), a ’95 VW Passat (best car ever made), 2004 Honda Passat (totaled by a drunk driver, scroll down link to “near death”) and currently a 2006 Honda Civic.
For all those vehicles and all the years, driving across country, up and down each coast, I would say one thing was pretty consistent. About 5-10 times a year I pull into a gas station on the wrong side of the pump hoping that the pump in question has one of those expendable hoses that can actually reach the far side of the vehicle without physically straining the hose and threatening to spew caustic, flammable, expensive gasoline all over the side of my car.
The other day I pulled onto the wrong side, but this time something different happened, my genius girl friend Jessica very nicely and simply stated “aren’t you on the wrong side?” I said “I don’t know, but I think so, how did you know?”
She said the little arrow on your gas gauge, reminds you what side your gas receptacle is on.
I had a brief moment of pure euphoria and then got out of the car singing and dancing and forever believing that this would indeed be the last time I ever pull into the wrong side of a gas pump in my life.
Of Happy Day