As we were driving back from DC to Boston on Saturday, Shelly and I stopped at the last Service Area on the New Jersey Turnpike for gas and Burger King. We got in line for gas, and sat there for about 15 minutes. New Jersey requires all gas stations to be full-service. I asked Shelly why she thinks that is, and she supposed it was to ensure the availability of low-paying unskilled jobs. Well, this particular gas station was a very popular one, and they had fewer than half the pumps staffed. It's great to create jobs, but if you can't get the applicants to fill the necessary jobs, maybe you'd better rethink your scheme. The long line was barely moving--one car every 5 to 7 minutes (you can go so much faster if it's self-service!). Since we still had about a quarter of a tank of gas anyway, we eventually just gave up and pulled out of line.

Near the Palisades Parkway in New Jersey (just outside of NYC), we pulled off again. Shelly ran in to a bank to get some more cash for the upcoming tolls (one thing I miss a lot about the West: no tolls) while I waited in the car. I glanced across the street at the Mobil gas station we intended to fill up at as soon as she returned. Something caught my eye. On the roof covering the gas pumps, the name "Mobil" was spelled out, and there was a flame flickering above the B. I looked again to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Yep, the gas station was on fire. It was just a little flame, and it seemed to be in no danger of spreading, but there it was.

Shelly got in, I showed her the fire, and we drove toward it, intending to be good Samaritans and point out to the full-service attendants that their gas station was about to blow up. Well, they had already noticed. All the employees were clustered below the fire, looking and pointing at it. We pulled up next to them, gestured toward the flame, and they motioned for us to go to the pumps on the FAR side of the gas station (good thinking, guys!).

Now, I admit, it probably wasn't the best idea to stay at a flaming gas station. But we needed gas, the fire was on the other side of the lot, and it looked small and controllable. I didn't feel there was much immediate danger. And there were no other cars at the gas station, which was a relief after the interminable Turnpike fiasco.

But when I pulled up to the pump, I had to violate New Jersey law and dispense my own gas (as I mentioned, all the attendants were busy pointing at the fire). While I was doing so, police cars started pulling up. First one, then another, till there were four or five surrounding the gas station and adjoining properties. I thought this was odd. What were the police going to do? Arrest the rogue flame? I mean, I could see maybe one police car dispatched, just to maintain order and safety if necessary, but FIVE? Where was the fire department?

It turned out they were just a little bit behind the police. Two big red fire engines pulled up as we were pulling out. All this manpower and tax-dollars-at-work for an eight-inch flame on a sign. As I was getting back into the car, one attendant, who apparently didn't speak much English, came over and looked sheepishly over at the fire, as if to say, "Sorry I didn't pump your gas for you, but the place is on fire, you know. What can you do?" I good-naturedly wished him the best of luck with his problem and drove off.

We passed another (non-flaming) gas station a block or two later. There was a long line of cars fueling up.

Moral of the story: When getting gas in New Jersey, if you don't want to wait, look for the gas station that's on fire.