Use the Black Pump, You Dolt!

I had my first mix up with diesel and petrol (gas) yesterday. I put petrol into a diesel van. That's a no-no. Lucky for me, I was still able to drive away from the gas station.

I was on my way back to the rental car agency and needed to just top off the tank. It probably wasn't a good idea to pull into the gas station a 7am, knowing that I needed to have my wits about me to know whether to use the green pump or the black pump. However, I'll maintain that it wasn't my fault. I shouldn't have had to return the rental yesterday. However, the rental car company screwed up my reservation.

I was supposed to have the van for 7 weeks, but the booked for only 4 weeks. So I was returning the van only so I could go across the road and rent a car from their competitors for the remaining 3 weeks. Apparently in Ireland, there's a tax law that states any rental over 28 days is considered a lease. Leases are taxed at a higher rate and the cars have to be specifically classed as "lease" vehicles. So despite the fact that I reserved a van with this company for 7 weeks, they put me in a rental-qualified (not lease-qualified) vehicle. Therefore, I needed to return the van after 4 weeks. Additionally, I couldn't rent another car from them (return one, take out another) because both cars would have to qualify as "lease" vehicles. If either one is a "rental" I was screwed. The only one they had available for me was a "rental," so I was screwed. Thus I reiterate, it was their own damn fault . . . OK, not really. I was half-awake, uncaffeined and perturbed that I had to return the car. Yet, I was still a dumbass.

The funny thing is that I didn't even realize that I had made the mistake until 8 hours later. I slowly remembered over the course of the day that I used petrol, not diesel. My inner monologue went something like this: "Did I use diesel? Yeah, I think I did. But it WAS making some odd noises. Perhaps I didn't use diesel. But I thought that if you used petrol in a diesel car it wouldn't start? Maybe since I just topped off, it was still diesel-ly enough to start and drive, but gas-y enough to cause the odd rattling sounds. Hmmmm . . . I think I used gas."

My next inner monologue was about what to do: "Perhaps they won't notice? But what about the next renters will they have an issue? How much will this cost me? Shit It's gonna cost me, but I need to tell them." So I called them.

Them: "Hello, __________ rental cars."
Me: "Yeah, I returned a car today and . . . . uhhhh . . . I think I filled it with petrol . . . ."
Them: "The ____________"
Me: "Yeah."
Them: "Yes, you filled with petrol. We're draining the tank now."
Me: "Sorry about that."

They seemed pretty cool about it, but being cool about it doesn't translate into "No charge, sir." I figure I owe them at least a tank of gas - even at exhorbinant car rental agency prices.

You're Taking It Like A Champ, Sir

Today, I get to introduce you to my friend, Humility. I'm not proud of what happened yesterday, but I'll share it nonetheless. Just as every human being, I have my flaws. Yesterday, I ran my flaw of overindulging up the flagpole and let it flap wildly in the breeze.

As you may know I was heading off to see the Six Nations Ireland vs. Italy rugby match. The day started at noon in the same fashion a joke might: A Brit, a Turk, a South African, and an American walk into a bar . . .

The bar was Fagan's in Drumcondra - not far from Croke Park. We had a couple of Guinness, then walked 20 paces down to Kennedy's Pub and had a few more. We headed over to the game - I was already a little tipsy. Yet, that did not stop me from having another pint at halftime. Ireland won 29-11.

After the match we went to Gill's Cornerhouse and had another pint. After Gill's, we went to The Church (a church converted into a bar) and had a couple more pints. The South African left us after The Church and the Turk was being more responsible about her intake of Guinness. The Brit and I weren't being very responsible at all.

The Brit had booked a reservation at Shanahan's on the Green - the priciest steakhouse in the city of Dublin. So after The Church, we caught a cab over to the Shanahan's for a good steak. I was starting to feel a little queasy.

We get to the restaurant and we're already under dressed (because we'd just come from a rugby match) but we were seated anyhow. I ordered water and a 50 Euro filet mignon, then politely excused myself to go to the bathroom where I proceeded to projectile vomit into the toilet. I cleaned myself up and headed back to the table (making one wrong turn and being guided back to my table by a waiter).

The waitress brought our food out and I took one bite of my 50 Euro steak before excusing myself a second time. While painting the toilet a second time, the Turkish lady that was with us called into the bathroom and asked me if I'd like a cab back to the hotel. Yes, I would.

As I come up from the bathroom, the mater di already has my coat ready and takes my elbow, escorting me to my cab. He says one thing to me, "you're taking it like a champ, sir."

I look him in the eye as I sit down in the cab and say, "You're lying, but thank you nonetheless."

The cab ride home was not much more fun. The cabbie kept looking back at me a paranoid look. That kind of look that pleaded with me not to vomit in his cab. Lucky for him, I had nothing left but a few dry heaves that I managed to lean out the door for.

The night ended with me crawling down the hallway to my hotel room, struggling with the door, then crawling into bed.

Throughout the day I lost my ticket (wanted to keep it as a souvenir), my rugby program, a pair of gloves, and my pride. Worst of all I wasted a 50 Euro steak.

I still don't know exactly what the mater di thought I was taking like a champ - my drunkenness or getting kicked out of the most prestigious restaurant in town. Probably both.