Slick job

volunteered to work as an attendant at the gas station in Sector 4 and here I was, on my off day, at one of the oldest petrol pumps in Chandigarh. I got into my uniform and a sardarji put me through a quick, impromptu training session. “The nozzle is heavy, hold it tight, don’t waste a drop. Fill the exact amount that the customer asks for. And when you key in the amount on the petrol machine, remember to ask the customer to check the machine so that he returns satisfied.” Phew! That’s a lot to do. So much for bravado and misplaced enterprise.

I was beginning to feel like a martyr when a red Honda City rudely screeched to a halt. “Bad driving,” I thought to myself but managed a smile at the young man who handed me a Rs 500-note. Yes sir. I keyed in 500 on the digital petrol machine and picked up the nozzle to fill the car’s petrol tank. In less then two minutes, I was through with my first assignment—and not a drop on the ground. I handed over the keys to the customer and he grinned, “Little lady, be careful with the nozzle. It is no child’s play.” Before I could react, he sped away. My pride had taken a blow but I was not going to give in to such sexist comments.

This petrol station was the first in Chandigarh to employ women attendants. But Nihar Mahindar Singh, the owner, says she couldn’t keep it going because “eve-teasing was a major problem”. Now I see what she meant but not having women in the team only makes the problem worse.

A small honk brought me back to where I was—I was glad I didn’t press the nozzle inadvertently. An old woman in a white Maruti 800 flashed a bright smile. “So now we have girls filling petrol in Chandigarh. Nice to see that,” she said patronisingly. “For Rs 1,000,” she said, holding out some notes. My nozzle went right into the tank, an effortless pull at the trigger and the job was done.

Good work, I told myself. If I failed to pursue that Australian diploma in sports journalism, I would work at a petrol station. In the next 30 minutes, I filled the fuel tanks for six cars and a motorbike.

I was about to wind up when a tractor rolled in. I couldn’t have left without trying my hand at this. The driver grinned—I’d seen that before, a smirk at seeing a woman in control. “Kitne ka,” I asked him. “Whole tank,” he said, still holding back a smile. “Where’s the tank,” I asked one of my colleagues. “Up there,” he replied, pointing to the top of the tractor.

Just what I feared. I should have taken my exercise routine seriously and now, those few extra kilos were pulling me down. But after a deep breath, I managed to heave myself on to the tractor. Ten minutes later, the petrol machine read, Rs 7,959.90 and 254.31 litres. I thanked Nihar and asked her if I could fill my car too. “Why not,” she replied. “You can even keep a bonus of Rs 50.”
(Shalini Gupta is a sports journalist with Indian Express, Chandigarh)