Low Energy Gas Station Attendants

One of the many things I appreciate about living in NJ is the fact that I don't have to pump my own gas. Manly types will grouse that they like pumping their own gas, but I've found that the Jersey system is faster and more efficient (mainly because it doesn't require my waiting on line in a convenience store behind some doofus with a Slurpee and a Slim Jim and a pocketful of change to pay). But lately I've become aware of a noticeable drop in the energy level of the attendants at the gas stations I visit. Since my gas tank is on the passenger side of the car, this requires the attendant to insert the nozzle into the tank and then walk a maximum of ten feet to my side of the car to take my order. And I'm not asking that he bow and tip his hat at my window; I realize the 1950s are long gone. All I'm asking is that he approach my side of the car so that I can turn and tell him how much I want. It doesn't seem like a lot to ask especially with the price of gas these days. But lately I've been meeting resistance in this seemingly simple procedure. The young, surly, Middle Eastern-looking men who man the pumps can't seem to muster the strength to walk ten feet. Instead they stand on the other side of the car waiting for me to roll down the passenger side window or yell at the top of my lungs or flash the amount with my hands like I'm back in kindergarten. So what I do now is sit there staring straight ahead until he gets the point and makes that colossal effort to take my order. And the looks I get! It's like I've asked him to cross the goddamn Sahara! Fuck you, buddy, and fill it up!