On the way up to St. Louis, we stopped across the highway and ate at the Steak N Shake. We drove over to the Flying J to fuel up because convenience stores are too compact to get it to the pumps... well, getting into the pumps ain't the problem, it's leaving.
So, at the Flying J, the rv island I drove into first the pump wasn't working, so I drove around and went into the other one. I fill up and my wife walks the dog. She tells me the left rear tire on the Suburban looks low. The RV pumps have a real air compressor and a long hose so I checked the the air in all the tow vehicle tires and all the trailer tires. They all needed air.
While I was checking the air, a gooseneck horse trailer pulled into the other fuel island. I told him the pump wasn't working, he said he just wanted air and no hurry, he had a really low trailer tire and he'd wait until I was done. The driver got out and someone started honking a horn. I thought it was someone in the horse trailer. No, It wasn't him honking.
It was a huge motorhome towing a big SUV. The guy was honking his horn telling us to hurry up. He had Texas tags. He seemed to be peturbed that the horse trailer was using a fuel island to air up his tires.
Looking at him in the cockpit of his motorhome I could see him gesturing.
I stopped checking my tires and let the cowboy fill up his tire with air. He pulled away and the big RV pulled up to the fuel island. The pump wouldn't accept his card. I didn't tell him the pump was broken, which was why I was in the other island.
I took my time checking the air and putting air in the tires. Then I got in the Suburban and calculated my fuel mileage, made sure the dog was in his crate, my wife was buckled in, then I went out and made sure all my clearance lights and directional signals were working as expected.
Then, I started my Suburban, tooted my horn at the motorhome driver and pulled back onto the interstate.