At the local gas station, filling my tank.
Guy pulls up to the pump right behind me with a nice, very new Lexus. Goes inside to do whatever he needs to do to pay, then comes out and pulls two large, plastic “Jerry” cans out of the back seat of the Lexus. You know, the ones that hold about five gallons or so, you use it to fill your lawn mower or chainsaw.
He proceeds to fill both of these plastic cans. They each have a spigot sticking up, sort of like you would find on a watering can for plants, plus a large filler hole on top. He’s filling through the big hole, of course.
After he’s done with filling both, he reaches back into the car and pulls out several dirty rags. He uses the rags to stuff into the filler holes and spigot holes on both cans.
Gasoline. Cloth rags used instead of caps or lids. Cloth rags that almost certainly are either in the gasoline acting as wicks, or will get splashed by gasoline when the car moves.
He then puts both full cans back into the back seat of the Lexus and drives off.
Is it me, or is he wandering around town with two humongous, industrial size Molotov cocktails in the back seat of his car, just begging for a spark?
This guy gets into a fender bender and there’s going to be an explosion you can see from space. That’s fine by me if he’s the only one who pays the price for his stupidity, but what happens if he clips a school bus? Or me?
No mushroom clouds in the neighborhood today, so I guess he made it home.