Back in 1995 I was roaring through Stage Gulch, Oregon at about 2 or 3 in the morning, heading home to my Olympic Peninsula. I stopped for fuel at a truck stop, got out, and, without thinking, started pumping my own gas into my Toyota truck. Some kid in a plaid shirt and jeans runs up and grabs the nozzle, jerks it out of my hand (and out of the filler neck) and gas flies all over me and the ground. I yelled, "What the F$%$!" The kid says, "Oh, sorry, man, but you can't do that in Oregon. It's too dangerous, we have to do it for you." I said, "Well, it wasn't dangerous until you sprayed gas all over hell!" We went back and forth, and I let him finishing filling it, while the gas evaporated from my pants, leaving just enough stink to keep me awake (had to keep the windows open) for the next 300 miles home.
He did not get a tip for full service.