We sat for five minutes before realizing we were doomed. "We have to fill it," I blurted. Mom's bored face twisted to fear as we gaped at the terrifying Pennsylvania gas pump. Exiting the car, we poked helplessly and it screamed angrily. The dusty ground pressed our shoes as the lonely air mingled with our nostrils, desperate for company. Finally, a smiling man in gray emerged from the station’s store and taught us the foreign concept of a fuel dispenser. We were dumbfounded.

“If we were home, he would’ve flipped us off,” mom said, turning onto the highway without turn signals.