Jersey Girls Aint Trash...Oh Wait. Yes They Are.

One of my three roommates, Tina, is from the one state that is single-handedly responsible for depleting 77% of our ozone. Although I have certainly gained more respect for her as a person, and for Jersey as a state, over the last year, much of that respect went down the crapper this evening.

Before I further with this particular telling, let me describe what my visits to New Jersey have been like: 6 lanes of fairly well-paved highway, apparently 600 cars without blinker lightbulbs, and roughly 30 miles of 15-foot high cement walls that are alledgedly there to muffle the sound of what I am assuming are 600 drivers incapable of controlling their horn-honking reflex.

All that! you say. But wait, there's more! Cops actually hide in shrubbery. Not just their physical person, although that would be hilarious, but their ENTIRE NEW JERSEY STATE TROOPER CARS. I actually had to turn and look behind me the first time I saw it because I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the front of police cruiser sticking out of this tricksy little shrubbery cove between the highways.

This is all annoying enough, but my real irritation? Gas stations. There I am, pulling up to put gas in my car on my way home. I pull up to the pump, turn my car off, and get out. And apparently people, therein lies the mortal sin. Before I know what is happening, a small man jumps out of a small booth and is yelling at me in broken English: "Back in the car! You in car! Back in car!" I wasn't sure whether to drop to the ground and cover my head or take off running, so I just backed away and slowly got into my driver's seat. This was my first lesson in New Jersey Gas Station Etiquette. Apparently, it is illegal to pump your own gas there. I am assuming this law began because too many serious injuries were occurring due to the sheer combustibility of the female population's heads.

In any case, Tina came into the apartment tonight and casually mentioned that she stopped to get gas, prices are going to soar tomorrow, and oh yeah, she didn't know how to pump her own gas. So, adaptable as she is, she made do. And when she spilled it from the nozzle, she did what any intelligent New Jersey girl would do and attempted to wipe it up with a tissue. Which she left inside her car. I was later informed that she sent Ryan out to retrieve the soiled tissue in desperate fear that "it might combust."

If there was a sighing smiley, I could sure use it right now.