I Don't Think You're So Stupid

As I've pointed out way too often, it's always the small, at the time seemingly insignificant events of a trip (and of a life), which inevitably form the most lasting memories, and inspire the greatest insight.  On our recent trip to Iceland it really jumped out at us how many of the gas pumps were automatic with no human service to be found.  With a country with a population half that of Vermont it's not particularly surprising that the pumps in many places would be unmanned.  Why would you keep someone around on the off-chance that one person might actually show up that day?  Many of them were not linked to a gas station, even an empty one, at all.  This would not be surprising in so many of the utterly isolated places (as I've opined, there were so many times, especially up in the Westfjords, where we felt we were at the edge of the world) but it's also true in the one gas station in Holmavik, which is small, but by Icelandic standards a decent sized town.  I flashed back several times to the, at best overly simplistic, at worst outright lie, Donald Trump claim that all American jobs are disappearing because of globalization and/or illegal immigrants.  Recently I read a study which pointed out that 88% of lost American factory jobs relate to automation.  The isolated automated pumps in Iceland seemed a metaphor.  In Iceland they made perfect sense, but there's now the counterpart not a mile from my house here in Burlington.  The pumps proved to be a bit of a challenge for me, and not simply because of my technological incompetence and general buffoonery.  The first time I tried to use one I ended up putting in an absurdly tiny amount of gas, which was caused by my miscalculations of liter/gallon, currency conversion, more expensive gas (more like the European norm of over $7 a gallon) and the fact that I had to enter in the exact amount before I started.  I ended up not putting in any more because someone else was waiting to use the pump and I couldn't stop laughing.  As we were leaving Holmavik I wanted to fill up.  This time I had done my math and knew what I wanted to enter in, which I did, but the gas pump handle was jammed and wouldn't release and the system timed itself out (another potential wrinkle with the system, and there was no one at the station to refund the money).  There was a nice Icelandic man at the next pump (which actually also ended up being broken, albeit for a different reason) so I asked him for help.  In situations like that I've found that it's best to take on the smiling, well-intentioned but generally helpless American persona - or, in this case, to reveal my smiling, well-intentioned but generally helpless American persona - and I said, "Excuse me.  I think I may be really stupid, because I can't get the gas pump to work."  He was affable and quite willing to help (as seemingly everybody we met in Iceland is) and said, "I don't think you're so stupid."  I suppose adding "so" might have made it a dig, but he was generally friendly and I was touched by his desire to help. He couldn't get it unstuck either, so instead he just struck it violently against the ground and it popped loose.  I told him that in America my answer would have been to smash something as well, but since I was a visitor I wanted to be more gentle, which he thought was very funny.

We had read in our preparation that in Iceland everyone does everything on ATM or credit card, and we certainly saw that.  The payment machine, here on the left, is usually separate from the gas pump itself.  Be careful, it does time out and you're required to put in the exact amount you want before you pump.