After my first year in college, mid-70’s, I found employment working at Saratoga Race Course, again as a hotwalker, a job I began in my high school years. Days begin early at racetracks and getting to work required having a car. My parents had bought a second-hand 1967 Camaro convertible, Little Red (Big Red was a 1957 Pontiac Starchief, who had died a few years before.) and they lent her to me for that summer. Although she was in relatively poor condition, her red rust competed with the once fire engine red paint, and she guzzled gas and oil with an unquenchable thirst, she was fabulous. Driving to and from work with the top down could only be described as a thrill.

One evening, exhausted from a long day, I pulled into a self-service gas station to fill her up. Ready to pay, an attendant came over and asked, “Did you convert your car?” “Excuse me?” I replied. “Did you convert your car to diesel?’ he continued. “No, why?” I asked.”Well you just filled your car with diesel and if it hasn’t been converted I wouldn’t start it up.”

It took a few days to get Little Red back, negotiating rides to work was not an easy task.

I noticed some time thereafter, the size of the gas pump nozzles were changed. A mistake such as mine could no longer be made. But I am confident that that is one mistake I would not have made again anyway.