This post doesn't deserve a title

In high school, Mare decided after a very long string of closely-related nicknames, to start calling me Gassy. Wait! I can explain.

All my life, people have called me Gina Bean... this lead to Beaner. When Mary got ahold of Beaner, it became Bean... to Bean-o... to Gassy. (This is the same girl who turned our friend Ross from Ross... to Sauce... to Saucer... to Cupper. God knows.)

There's no great time in life to be given a nickname that is also the name of a medication based on, eh, digestive problems. However, if you had to choose a time that would be the worst, high school would be it. I had to tell her to stop before everyone started to accidentally associate me with eh, digestive problems.*

Today was a day reminiscent of this fated day last March. Too much going on, no time for anything to go wrong. Naturally, my car decided not to start when I went to run errands at lunch. My soon-to-be-sainted co-worker let me borrow her car, so off I went.

As I drove away, I wondered if my car was not starting due to a low gas tank in the middle of a freezing MN winter. I coulnd't remember with certainty how full it was. As I am young, independent, and seemingly not a complete idiot, I decided that I could probably handle going to the gas station to fill up a gas can for my car. Problem-solver! I thought myself as I pulled up next to the fueling station.

Approximately 2 minutes later, I had the gas can out and ready, and the nozzle appropriately set into the gas can to prevent any backsplash. As I pressed the release button, I leaned forward to stay on top of the can, and slipped on a patch of ice. The nozzle slammed horizontally into the top of the can, sending a spray of gas back at me. The most concentrated amount went right at my face, and more specifically, my right eye. I released my anger and tension in the exact manner that I was taught in yoga class- by repeatedly screaming the F word as loudly as possible.

After keeping said eye closed for about 45 seconds (and casually ignoring the gasps and look of horror/panic of the man on the other side of the pumping station), I built up the nerve to open it. It felt exactly as you'd expect gasoline in your eye to feel, which is to say it burned like a mother. Eventually the burning subsided and I was able to try filling the can again. Success.

I returned to my office reeking of gasoline, apologizing to my co-worker that a) her car smelled and b) I'd need a ride to her apartment after work to shower before our holiday party, thus guaranteeing that the smell would only get worse in there. I have the onset of a migraine from my own scent at this point. Everyone is being friendly, but all I can think is...

Oh God. What if they start calling me Gassy, too?

*This post may be ridiculous, but I refuse to google "fart synonyms" on the same day that I googled "gas spray in eye + temporary blindness"