Forget AI, Let’s Do Something About GasPumpGPT

Somewhere between the self-checkout lanes that treat everyone like a criminal and the “smart” fridge that tells you how empty your life is, we decided to invite technology into every corner of our existence—even the corner gas station. Spoiler alert: it’s not going well.

This week, I’d like to address a national crisis that’s flying under the radar. Unless you’re at pump #4. Yes, I’m talking about the gas pump. That cold, steel conversationalist that’s recently become the most inquisitive machine on the planet.

I miss the days when a trip to the gas station was simple. You’d pull up, hop out, swipe your card, press a button, and pump your gas like a productive member of society. Now, it’s a pop quiz in the parking lot, where we are required to answer an interrogation by a machine before we can just pump our gas and be on our way.

“Is this a debit card?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know your PIN?”
Do I what? Excuse me? Did you just question my PIN literacy? What’s next—are you going to ask for my SAT scores?

I press “yes” with the enthusiasm of someone who’s already regretting their life choices. Then comes the command: “Cover the keypad.” None of this, of course, would be necessary if the “tap to pay” option wasn’t just perpetually broken.

And just when I think I might actually get to buy gas—a purpose for which I clearly stopped here—it hits me with the upsell. “Would you like a car wash?” No. I wouldn’t like a car wash. I’m here for fuel, not a mediocre drive-thru pressure washer that leaves my car looking like it fought a raccoon.

But wait, there’s more! “Would you like a receipt?” I don’t know, Sharon the Pumpbot, are you going to print one? Or are you going to tell me to “see attendant,” thereby defeating the entire point of this unmanned, automated process? Because so help me, if I walk inside and the “attendant” is just a lottery machine and an empty stool, I might actually lose it.

This is what we now call convenience. These places aren’t gas stations anymore. They’re “convenience stores.” A term invented by someone who clearly doesn’t pump their own gas and has ever tried to buy a bag of chips while someone in front of them decides which sequence of lottery tickets to buy in order to go broke this week.

Pay at the pump. What used to be the height of luxury—an innovation so glorious it practically deserved a red carpet and trumpet fanfare—is now a psychological endurance test. Pay at the pump? More like “play a game of 20 Questions with a robot while your your soul slowly leaves your body and you end up late to wherever you were going.”

Look, I get it. Progress. Innovation. Automation. Efficiency. But if we’re going to automate things, can we do it without turning the simplest errands into dystopian interviews? Just once I’d like to pump gas without feeling like I’m applying for a mortgage.

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