A week after the elevator incident, my friend Caterina invited me to her house for a curry dinner with some Scandinavian guests. After taking the stairs to Caterina's place, I enjoyed a lovely curry dinner and then offered to give my friends Fredrik (who's Swedish) and John (who's not), a ride home.
After dropping John off, Fredrik and I stopped at a gas station. As we were pulling up to the pump, Fredrik spied a price sign and asked, "What's kerosene?" I told him it was a heating fuel typically used in the winters for homes and lamps. He then wondered aloud why it was at a gas station, and then I told him I had no idea.
I put 20 Euros worth of fuel in the car and pulled out. We made it to the traffic light before the car started seizing up and making strange sounds so that I had to turn around. I pulled back into the gas station, and...I had filled the car with kerosene. It was stuck right between the 95 and 98 octane, and had the same sized nozzle as the regular gas. I was horrified. My car wouldn't even start. I had to call John so that he and Fredrik could push my car back into a parking spot.
Luckily for me, and perhaps, too coincidentally, the gas station had a garage next door who happily flushed my engine and replaced my filters. What sort of country puts the kerosene in with the gas?!
After dropping John off, Fredrik and I stopped at a gas station. As we were pulling up to the pump, Fredrik spied a price sign and asked, "What's kerosene?" I told him it was a heating fuel typically used in the winters for homes and lamps. He then wondered aloud why it was at a gas station, and then I told him I had no idea.
I put 20 Euros worth of fuel in the car and pulled out. We made it to the traffic light before the car started seizing up and making strange sounds so that I had to turn around. I pulled back into the gas station, and...I had filled the car with kerosene. It was stuck right between the 95 and 98 octane, and had the same sized nozzle as the regular gas. I was horrified. My car wouldn't even start. I had to call John so that he and Fredrik could push my car back into a parking spot.
Luckily for me, and perhaps, too coincidentally, the gas station had a garage next door who happily flushed my engine and replaced my filters. What sort of country puts the kerosene in with the gas?!
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