Finally, we have bitten the bullet and taken on a car payment for a gently worn car. Of course, it’s not cute, red or convertible (which would probably just scream how old I am seeing as how I couldn’t possibly have afforded something like that in my youth). The road noise is so quiet now and I don’t hear a loud whining noise when sitting at the stop light. Amazing. Raylee was kind enough to drive me to pick it up a few weeks ago and to follow me back home. It was almost empty so we stopped at the Shell to fill-up.

First things first, after pulling up to the pump, I realized that the tank is on the opposite side as our old vehicle so I immediately had to maneuver around so the tank was next to the pump. Secondly, after turning off the car I looked on my left for the gas tank lever (where it was in the old car), not there. I looked all over the dashboard at the various levers and buttons for a gas tank release, still nothing. By then I had decided it didn’t have a gas tank button or lever.

Getting out of the car and walking around to the gas tank I tried to open it. It was stuck. I couldn’t even get my finger nail in between to try to pry it open. Now I was a bit confused. So, I got back into the car to read the owner’s manual. I read all the sections relating to fuel. The only fuel related picture I saw was the “low-fuel light.” By this time, I had no clue how to open the door to the gas tank and had almost decided to call the car lot and ask them; instead, I got back out of the car and walked around to the tank. In frustration, I lightly hit the tank door with the side of my fist. Guess what? The door popped open. After ten minutes I had discovered that the gas tank door was spring loaded. I opened and closed it several times to make sure it would continue working.

After filling up with gas, I was able to take our “new” car home. I’m thinking I need a Tommy gun to complete the gangster image in this Chevrolet HHR.