CHUMP AT THE PUMP (Gas station attendant)

"I’ve only had two complaints about you so far," said Jersi Barnhardt, the 30-year-old attendant I’ve replaced at the Fabulous Freddy’s Shell station at 9611 Trailwood Drive.

Two complaints may not seem like a lot, but I’ve served one customer so far.

"You frightened the lady on the first pump," Barnhardt explains, even though I wasn’t serving her.

The sight of full-serve attendants indicates that either you’re passing one of this company’s six valley carwash/gas stations, or that your DeLorean has traveled backward in time. From 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. every day, gasoline jockeys swarm cars here like party-planners on Lindsay Lohan. They offer to wash windshields and check oil, and they tell you to "have a fabulous day."

"Just give it to the cashier and they’ll swipe it," Barnhardt tells me.

Thus ends two frustrating minutes in which I attempt to insert a Freddy Bucks discount card into the slot on pump No. 7 as my first customer, Las Vegas resident Christina Canter, looks on.

I sprint back to the convenience-store cash register like Jesse Owens at the 1936 Summer Olympics. ("Make sure that you are always running," reads the Fabulous Freddy’s employee handbook.)

Fabulous Freddy’s was started, along with its "full serve at self-serve prices" concept, by Fred Smith in 1998. In the nationwide elimination of gasoline station perks, this Las Vegas entrepeneur saw a niche that needed filling more than the tank of a Cadillac Escalade after cruising the Strip.

"The main thing is to provide a fabulous experience to everyone, and their vehicles, that is the highest quality convenience, value and service," Barnhardt said earlier.

Although the employees don’t like to admit it, the name Fabulous Freddy’s is a pun on Terrible Herbst.

"What was that name — Terrible worst?" Barnhardt asked.

Barnhardt is an aspiring comedian, in case that last comment didn’t make it obvious. After taking oral communications and theater at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, the Cimarron-Memorial grad enrolled at the Groundlings, the same West Hollywood improvisational theater that trained Lisa Kudrow, Phil Hartman and Jon Lovitz.

"I shot out there on my days off," Barnhardt said. "I drove for four hours, took a three-hour class and then drove back."

So far, Barnhardt says, he has performed stand-up at talent shows, friends’ parties and the Beach nightclub.

"I’ve still got the dream, man," he says. "I plan on doing that for real. I plan on getting serious about it."

Barnhardt fell into pumping gasoline when his neighbor, a supervisor at another Fabulous Freddy’s, recommended him for the job last November. It pays $6.50 an hour to start.

"But I make great tips," Barnhardt said. (I am unable to confirm this particular claim, for reasons that I think my performance renders fairly obvious.)

"And you want what kind of carwash with that, sweetie?" cashier Inga Crum asks the first of three customers in front of me.

Even Lohan couldn’t cut the line at the Fabulous Freddy’s convenience store. Everyone waits here — just like everyone else.

Canter’s day gets less fabulous with each of the next four minutes ticked off by the clock.

"Oh no," Crum says when my turn comes. "It’s way too late for that. Sorry."

The Freddy Bucks card must be swiped before payment is made. (I will make no such mistake with my second customer. I hand Crum his card before requesting a fill-up on pump 7. Unfortunately, my second customer pulled up to pump No. 8. This action cuts off the fuel that Adam French is pumping into a BMW on pump 7. "I’ve never seen anything like that happen before," the attendant reports.)

Pumping gasoline and pumping audiences for laughs have many commonalities, Barnhardt told me.

"I do my job out there and promote the company, but I can usually get someone to laugh," he said, "by picking up something from the license plate, or if they have kids or a car seat."

I sprint back out to Canter and inform her that I will pay her, out of pocket, for the discount she should have received from the card I couldn’t swipe. I insert the pump and press the lever. Instead of 87-octane gasoline, however, only a clicking sound comes out.

"Invalid payment," the display reads. "Pump stopped."

Another minute transpires as I try squeezing the nozzle with just the right pressure.

"That won’t work," says human resources director Brandon Gren, who has been watching me and slapping his forehead. "You need to cancel out the transaction."

By the way, when Fabulous Freddy’s invited me to do this job, I warned that there might not be enough to it for an article. I’m actually good at pumping gasoline, I told them. I’ve done it almost every week since 1994.

"It really shouldn’t take this long," Canter says.

In case you haven’t noticed by now, I’m followed by a gray cloud. It’s not a black one, since nobody ever gets injured or killed.

But it’s definitely not white, either. Slightly horrible things happen to me on a constant basis. Like the mythological cooler (someone allegedly paid to break casino winning streaks), I am one of the world’s few losers to have figured out how to transform incessant bad luck into a living.

I ask Canter if I’m making her late for work.

"Thank God, no," she replies. She’s just returning home after running errands.

After five more silent minutes, the readout changes.

"One moment please," it announces.

When the precious gasoline finally flows, I feel happier than Jed Clampett after striking oil with his hunting rifle. I lock the pump into the open position. Now it’s my job to offer to wash Canter’s windows.

She declines, explaining, "You might take another 10 minutes."

As I top off Canter’s tank, five other employees applaud. Barnhardt is correct: Stand-up comedy and pumping gasoline are similar.

"I think you just set a new record," Gren informs me, indicating that Canter pulled in 18 minutes ago.

For her patience, Barnhardt offers Canter a voucher for a free carwash. He then repeats his company’s "Stepford Wives"-like mantra.

"I’ll have a fabulous day if you fire him," she replies, smiling as she starts her engine.

Come to think of it, me and my gray cloud were let go from every job we held before journalism — selling toys at a department store, tagging garments at a coat factory and stocking shelves at a supermarket.

"Consider it done," Gren tells Canter.

Watch video of Levitan as a gasoline attendant at www.reviewjournal.com/video/fearandloafing.html. Fear and Loafing runs Mondays in the Living section. Levitan’s previous adventures are posted at fearandloafing.com.