There is a girl from my hall who hails from the fine state of New Jersey. She recently brought her car back with her, because she is going to visit a friend of hers this weekend. Since she was looking for something for her brother (who is at Bucknell for Sibling’s Weekend) and her to do last night, I suggested she drive somewhere, since she had a car. She responded with an emphatic “No,” saying that she would have to fill her car up with gas. I joked that was because she didn’t want to have to pump gas herself, but then she noted that was exactly why she didn’t want to drive anywhere. She didn’t know how to pump gas! Growing up in New Jersey, someone always pumped her gas for her, and she never had to do it herself until yesterday. Of course, there is practically no such thing as a full-service gas station in Pennsylvania, so I have known how to pump gas since I was a wee boy. I never realized that for someone who didn’t grow up watching her parents pump gas, it might be quite a feat. Just figuring out how to select a payment option is troublesome enough, but if you had never been shown how to pump gas, you wouldn’t know when to stop, or what it meant when the gas pump clicked at you. Interesting how things I take for granted are so foreign to other people who have never come in contact with them before.