Wait for it...

So, I've got a habit of starting things I'm writting with "So,". It's just a habit, not a particularly bad one, but it's a pretty ingrained habit none the less. Maybe I'll break it, but this whole thing is sorta freeform and spontaneous, so breaking it might be a bit too forced for my taste. I also like run on sentences and big words I can use in sentences, but that I can't spell. I have a propensity for them. See, I'm not sure I spelled that word correctly and I'm purposely refraining from using spell check on this, just as a form of self enforced something or other. In fact, I'll probably spell check this whole thing after I publish it, just for peace of mind. I won't edit the thing, but I'll know (and maybe, just maybe, you will too...).
There, that's better (I just changed font). Seems a bit odd that I can process better in a pleasing font, but I can, so it changes. No idea what the default font is on this thing and I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter. It might, but I'll deal with that then. If old english teachers from school days past are to read this, my utter lack of a point will be a small comfort. That, as well as my continuing ignorance of grammar, punctuation and spelling (though not necessarily in that order, or at all...).
I am just now recouping from the day at work, the beer is still cold, the TV muted. I am not sure how this all fits togther yet, but it'll happen. I've been fostering a small fear of gas stations for some time now. At first it was a fear of running into the island with my bumper. Given time and experience that has dissapated (mostly). My fears being what they are (mine) naturally abhor a vaccum, and are instantly replaced with more severe, and possibly british, ones. Take this new fear of the gas station: I'm not even positive it is new. That was a horrible use of the one-on-top-of-the-other-dots-thingies. Totally wasted. Anyway, I am starting to believe that my new fear was only masked by the original fear, and the relief I felt after I successfully navigated the tiny driving lanes at the gas station. I think that this new fear was there all along, and that I just failed to pay it due heed. So, this new sort of british fear is a fear of the attendants. They are for the most part totally friendly and outgoing. They seem quick to smile or at least yell at someone other than me. They even wash my windows with those dirty squegees (sometimes). My fear is this: That they are only being so nice and social in order to get a tip. This is a multi-stage fear so bear with me. See, I don't use cash. Plastic is my drug of choice, the narcotic of convenience and respectability rolled up in a slow burn wrapper. When you pay with a card at the gas station they don't give you a tip section to show some guilt. They might expect you to carry a spot of cash, but I don't. It's all plastic, most of the time. I always feel akward being friendly and engaging when I have this creeping sensation of being a mark. Being made for a quick tip. I'm usually getting gas after or before work (never on a day off oddly...) so I've got the whole shirt and tie thing happening. Whatever it is, they come running and I'm left feeling like the guy in the '87 Jetta is getting ignored because I might, just might give a tip. But I'm not tipping. And so I'm akward and stilted dealing with the delightful human beings who pump my gas. Mind you I don't want to pump my own. Oh no, this is a mark of refinement having someone else pump gas for me. I'll pay the tax and create jobs and all that bit. No, I'm just uncomfortable with the interaction bit. I always sigh and stretch or yawn like I've been worked beyond any standard of decency. I feign dazed stuppor or hide behind my coffee cup. I cringe when I'm called "sir". Yes, I could budget my gas money, carry it in cash and include a tip in my figures. I could carry tip money specially for the gas station. I could have scratch-its on hand for a unique type of gratitude. Or, I could just come up with a bunch of half-assed solutions and continue on with my ways and fears.
Change is a constant, but damned if I don't at least put up a fight. I have my neurotic fear of interactions with gas station attendants that I'm not going to tip, and that's just how it is. I've got friends that used to work at gas stations. I know the ways they devised to spot a tip, the customers they sought out, stories told. I know the thinly veiled disgust they felt for non-tippers, the people who didn't think they were good enough to live (their sentiment, not mine). Maybe that has contributed to my neurosis. Maybe I really am just becoming british and socially akward. Maybe I'm creating drama to avoid self realizations of being stingy with the help. Do I really need to solve this? Or should I just enjoy my own bumbling ineptness in this limited irregular occurance? Eh...
That's all I got. I'm still new to this whole form of ego stroking. I'm sufficently self important so I'm really just curious to see what happens here. I've got no mission statement, no plan of attack. Just a blank page and my mind. God save us all.