Gas Station Retreat

“Oh no!” my friend Robin exclaimed as she tried to turn the key in her blue minivan’s ignition. Nothing. No clicking. No connection. Nothing. “This is bad,” she said. “Really bad.”

Currently parked at pump #1 at a gas station somewhere near the border of Connecticut and Massachusetts, we were filling up following a quick campout in New Hampshire after dropping our daughters off for a weeklong camp.

“This has happened before,” Robin shared. “It’s a problem with the key.”

She called her husband and then AAA.

“The parts aren’t getting along again,” I heard her say, referencing the key and the ignition. I couldn’t help but chuckle inside.

Having just packed up the campsite that morning, we were clad in comfy clothes and were well beyond the help of even dry shampoo as we pondered our next steps. An hour or so earlier we had ventured out in a canoe briefly, looking completely out of place with our bulky purses in the boat trying not to let them get wet as we awkwardly rowed. A similar sense of being out of our element arose now.

“I guess we should tell the gas station that we’re going to be here a while,” Robin said. She put on her hat and headed in to find the manager. I jumped out to get some air as it was the middle of July. A short time later, Robin returned.

Fortunately, the station was OK with the van staying put at pump #1 because the thought of us pushing it, well, let’s just forget that thought.

Not knowing how long we might be hanging out at the gas station, Robin decided to make lemonade out of lemons. She said to take the camp chairs out, and we quickly set up a mini camp in the shade of the station’s few trees. There we sat with our hats and sunglasses looking at the view of six pumps and the cars pulling in and out to refuel. I reflected a bit on my friendship with Robin as we chatted by the parking lot’s curb.

We’ve only known each other for a couple of years as our daughters are close friends, but it feels like we’ve been friends far longer. (You know that type of friendship where you don’t see each another for ages, but when you do, you can pick up as if the passing of time never happened. That’s Robin.)

Robin cares deeply about people, and she knows how to laugh at herself and at life. She also has a way of inspiring me to try new things such as camping. I only went twice as a kid with a friend, so you could say that camping is “not my thing,” but with Robin, it’s a new adventure. For example, I’ve learned that the wax casings on Babybel mini-cheese snacks make perfect starters for the campfire. Who knew?

Looking back on our current predicament, I am sure I would have been mortified in my younger years, but with Robin, the day was a minor paragraph in each of our respective life chapters — where smiles and laughter outweigh cranky keys.

Thirty minutes or so passed with assistance still on the way, so Robin headed back to the van to try the key again. I was starting to think we may need to consider some hard cider to pass the time, but just like that, the sound of the engine roared as Robin hit the gas pedal. Wonderful! I grabbed the camp chairs, and we repacked the van. Crisis averted, but so thankful for the memory.