British Petroleum

At 4209 South Florida Avenue, there stands a relic of the former age of gas stations: a rather degenerate looking BP. This particular BP is a solemn monument to a bygone era, in my opinion, due to its hapless architectural design, poor location, and dysfunctional appearance; gas stations these days are slick, efficient, well-illuminated edifices that offer a seemingly limitless supply of conveniences. 4209 South Florida Avenue, however, is a time capsule of a facility, a green mound of visual refuse. One is automatically disinclined to leisurely refuel as well, principally because of the barred windows of the store; if the owner feels the location is an unsafe one, the public should probably feel unsettled about choosing to refill here also.

Unfortunately for me, this afternoon my “empty light” was on for a solid 15 minutes before I felt as though the running-on-fumes envelope could be pushed no further; doubly unfortunate for me, I chose to refuel at the BP located at 4209 South Florida Avenue.

Allow me to make a brief aside before I continue conveying my recent experience: I hate being hoodwinked. I cannot abide the bait-and-switch. I loathe a shyster. I cringe at the thought of being cheated. I cannot stand a snake oil sales pitch. I deplore the use of diversionary marketing tactics. I think swindlers should rot in compost heaps composed of liars and gossipers and fraudulent politicians and obnoxious salespeople and individuals that kick babies and Jay Leno and Bill O’Reilly…

…That aside complete, I will now proceed to the actual cause of this post: my unwitting purchase of grade 89 gas.

I never, ever, ever put anything but the least expensive gas into my car. This time, however, I noticed within a few seconds that I was rapidly becoming the victim of an unserendipitous gas pump placement: where the cheap gas—grade 87—should be (furthest on the left), there sat the mid grade option. With the precision of a medieval axeman in Antoinette's France, BP had delivered to me an emotionally dismembering blow. I had been a dummy and had received a dummy’s treatment. Like the rest of the simpering masses being led along the primrose path to consumerism’s slaughterhouse, in order to save a buck, I had hastily purchased a product without being fully informed to its true nature. Instead of paying $2.549 for a gallon of gasoline, I paid $2.749.

Lesson 1: Read the labels of every product that you purchase, for capitalism is at best a friendly competition and at worst a bloodsport (the consumer almost always loses, by the way). If a corporation or company can figure out a way to trick you, they will.

Lesson 2: Don’t ever buy gas at the BP located at 4209 South Florida Avenue. They suck.