“ We’re almost out of gas! The red light is blinking! She said.
“I’m sure there is a gas station close by,” I said, adding, “I’m sure that Renaults get good gas mileage.” We were in the suburbs of Avignon, France, a few kilometers from Eyragues where we were staying.
“We’d better find one soon,” she said with a hint of panic in her voice. Claudette was doing all the driving while we were in France. I had unfortunately misplaced my wallet somewhere in Paris and it was not to be found.
“There’s one on the left up ahead,” I announced. I saw a sigh of relief on my wife’s face. We made a quick exit off the street to find a gas station consisting of two stand alone gas pumps and a carwash. There was no attendant in sight. Indeed no 7 Eleven either.
She was out of the car and at the pump before I could get my shoes on. (If I'm not driving, I slip my shoes off.) She was inserting the Visa card into the gas pump by the time I got out of the car.
“It doesn’t work," she said, “It won’t take my credit card.”
“What do you mean, it won’t take the credit card?” I wanted to know.
“I know it worked on the toll road…I’ll try a different card,” she said with a certain amount of stress in her voice.and from the abundance of her purse sprang perhaps the plastic savior.
“Oh no-o-o, it doesn’t work either!” She said and I volunteered to try my hand. She gave me the card and I tried every conceivable way to get the machine to acknowledge our wants and desires. I did not succeed.
While I was attempting to solve the problem, Claudette had spied a Frenchman. He was apparently at the location to maintain the carwash. Neither the carwash nor the gas station were staffed by the attendents. She was gesturing to him and speaking in broken French as they approached me at the gas pumps.
He was a tall rangy fellow of maybe fifty years or so. He wore dirty work clothes and had gray stubble on his weathered face. He looked a lot like Jean Reno, the actor. There was a somewhat bewildered look on his face. I held a credit card in my hend and mimicked putting it into the gas pump. He looked at me quizzically as I shook my head. Against my better judgement, I gave him the card and held up ten fingers meaning I wanted ten liters of gasoline. The Frenchman entered the card in the slot and pushed it. His hand moved so very slow as the plastic card made its way into the gas pump. It seemed to have taken forever. I held my breath! He pushed some buttons on the pump…but nothing happened. The card and it did not work for him either. He looked perplexed and examined the card carefully before returning it to me. We had to try something different. Somehow I managed to get the carwash repairman to use his own credit card to put gasoline in our rented Renault. I think it was my pantomime skills! He bought us €20 of gasoline! I gave him €25, I thought it was worth a €5 “tip”.
We never determined why the Visa card worked sporadically. We frequently are asked if the French are rude and crude. But we’ve always found them to be friendly and very helpful. Maybe not being rude, they’re just reflecting how they are being treated.
