Running on Empty

I hate going to the gas station. 90% of the time I get harassed. I dread when my tank gets low because I know that I will have to stop somewhere and be subjected to some sort of verbal harassment of usually the sexual nature by some sort of crack head. Last night this one crack head was swearing up a storm about something and then sees me and beelines toward me and apologies about his language. He then gets in my face and goes on and on about how beautiful my eyes are, but not in a good way, it feels like at any moment he is going to rip them from my face and try and shove them in his own eye sockets or mount them on a wall somewhere. After he is babbling on and on about our strong connection and how I need to go someplace with him another man comes along. I foolishly was hoping he came to save me from this other guy, but no. The new guy is insisting on washing my windows even though I repeatedly told him no. I fastly get in my car and lock it and drive off slowly so one of them doesn't throw himself on my car and pretend that I've hit him, which has happened before more then once. Then there are the people that drive by and yell things at you. I hate the gas station with all my heart. It is bad enough that I have to pay so much money for gas. You think for what I pay I would be protected better but no. Not one gas station attendant has ever come to my aid by helping me get some jerk off me from touching my ass or trying to get in my car. That low gas tank is such a horrible precursor to some form of humiliation and fear.