“Way to go, Genius!” he said to no one in particular as he realized that the gas he’d been pumping was spurting out onto his hand and dribbling down his pant’s leg.
He released the handle and hurriedly put it back in its cradle, and then shook his hand and leg simultaneously while shaking his head in reprimand for having caught himself daydreaming again.
“Well, that’s what you get Old Boy,” he said with a gentler tone, again to no one in particular. As was often the case in such situations, he was abrasive with himself at first, turning compassionate after a bit, as he knew that he’d always been a daydreamer and probably always would be a daydreamer.
No sense berating a skunk for its stripe, he thought, pleased that he’d found such a fitting analogy. “Let’s get a move on then,” he said with a bit of pep. And as he pulled away from the station, a tune found his lips and he started to whistle.