Fuel station mix-up had me worried - Kevin Page

Kevin Page was surprised to hear that his number plate was coming up on their system as a 'pending' payer. Photo / NZME

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Page has been a journalist for many years and has been writing a column since 2017.

OPINION

So, here I am driving along a quiet country road and in the distance behind me a police car is rapidly closing in with its lights flashing.

Ordinarily, this would cause me no concern whatsoever. After all, I am a law-abiding model citizen with nothing to be worried about as far as interaction with law enforcement.

Or at least I thought I was up till a week ago.

Now I’m not so sure and as Mr Policeman gets closer my pulse starts to quicken and my mind goes to all sorts of crazy places.

What if this turns out to be one of those scary situations like you see on those equally scary US TV programmes? You know the ones I mean.

The cop turns out to be an evil, corrupt, serial killer in disguise. There’s no one around for miles and he’ll probably zap me with some electric prong thing and when I regain consciousness I’ll be tied up in some old shack, miles from help. There’ll probably be the bones of a previous victim in the corner.

Gulp. Will this be the end of me? What will happen to those left behind?

Who will help Mrs P fill out ACC forms? Or lift George the three-legged dog back into the car after he’s got out for a wee?

The flashing lights are getting closer now.

Heart pounding, I slow and pull to the side of the road. Oh well. I’d been told they would catch up with me one day. I just didn’t realise it would be so soon.

I’m resigned to my fate as I pull to a complete stop.

Hang on a minute. The police car isn’t stopping. He’s just shot past at a great rate of knots, presumably on his way to a far more important incident.

I breathe a sigh of relief and head on my merry way again.

I’m looking for a certain petrol station. One that will let me give them the cash I owe them. The same one that has made me feel like a bit of a criminal this last week, if I’m honest.

OK. So, let me explain.

Last Friday I had an appointment to do with my dodgy hip some 400km from where I’m currently staying.

I braved the traffic of the big smoke – and the pain of the hip, I might add (those who’ve been there will know what I’m talking about) – and did the there and back thing in one day.

On the return journey I needed to top up with fuel so popped into the busiest fuel station I’d seen in a while to do just that.

Most times when I get my fuel I just fill up at the bowser, lock the car and go inside to pay. This time, with cars queued behind me waiting to get in I thought I’d help everybody out and drive forward 15 yards to a parking spot and then go in.

I wish I hadn’t.

When I got inside there was a queue as long as your arm up to the tills so I went to the loo first. When I came out the queue was shorter and I eventually got up to the counter, paid for the gas and left.

It wasn’t till the following night when Mrs P was running through my trip receipts – dropping out of the rat race early forces you to find new ways to entertain yourself, particularly if there’s nothing on the telly – when she mentioned the fuel had been particularly cheap on the way back.

I’d been in a bit of a rush to get back to my beloved so I hadn’t really paid attention to exactly how much I’d paid other than it was “the diesel on pump six”. You know what I mean, I’m sure. But, yes, it was a bit cheaper. We just put it down to one of those loyalty discounts you get, particularly as we’ve been buying a bit of fuel lately.

Three days later went into our local fuel station for another top up and they told me there was a warrant pending for my arrest!

Well, what they actually said was my number plate was coming up on their system as a “pending” payer. Which basically meant I owed money and the out-of-pocket station wanted it. Fast. At least before the system recorded me as a “drive off” and debt-collection agencies were let loose to track me down.

What’s more, I had to ring their customer affairs section asap.

As I left the station the young guy behind the counter added: “Don’t leave the country!”, which I actually thought was kind of funny and definitely worthy of mention.

So, a little apprehensive I must admit, I rang customer affairs and, obviously, it was a call centre 1.7 million miles from where I am and nobody knew what I was on about.

Eventually, we ascertained it was a straight mix-up in what I’d paid for, most likely down to an operator at a very busy till. No problem. I’ll pay the $50 I owe them and we’ll be done.

However, it was not that easy. I needed to go back to where I bought the fuel from, 400-odd kilometers away! I explained that’s a bit difficult given my current situation but I will be going back that way in two weeks.

Nope. I was told it had to be sooner.

OK. I can pay online right now if that helps.

Nope. Has to be in store.

So I hung up a little frustrated I’ll admit. Mrs P, who apparently doesn’t fancy doing jail time, mades me call back. So I do.

This time – eventually – I get a lady who elaborates on things a bit and tells me to go to any of their stations anywhere, explain the situation, pay the outstanding bill and get a receipt. Then I’d have to take a photo of that receipt and send it to them to prove I’ve sorted it.

The conversation ends with the “recommendation” I do it as soon as possible to avoid the dreaded “further action”.

And so, with Mrs P basically packing her toothbrush and wondering how much jail time she’ll have to do as an accessory, I hit the road. Again.

Now I won’t bore you with all the conversations but I tried three different petrol stations of this particular brand and had no luck at any.

Yes, to be fair, it might have been a bit of an unusual one for the busy till operators to have to sort but the puzzled looks I got as I explained it on the three different occasions did not give a great deal of confidence in me being able to complete the assignment before I was arrested and slung in the clink.

Back at base later, I tried customer services again and this time the guy on the other side of the world gave me a “unique customer number” for putting into a website to make the payment.

But, you guessed it, that didn’t work.

So, for another drive I went, to clear my head and work out what to do next, maybe even find a station that can help me out. And that’s when the police car came up behind with flashing lights and scared the bejeezus out of me.

Blood pressure back to normal at home a half hour later, she who provides the rational thinking in our whānau suggested I call the actual petrol station involved directly, which I do.

“No worries at all,” says the helpful guy on the line. “Just pop in and pay when you’re back down this way in a couple of weeks. I’ll make a note of it in the system.”

I hang up satisfied I won’t be going to jail any time soon and definitely won’t be going through this drama in the future.

That’s because I plan to sell the fuel-guzzling car and buy a pushbike instead.