Picking up Palestinian Olive Oil

I arranged to meet Ata and his son Nadi on Saturday in our usual spot at the gas station by the highway near his village to pick up  his half of this year's "Peace Oil- Salaam Shalom". Unfortunately after I'd parked I noticed that the car in front of me was a police jeep. One of the policemen was busy searching a 3rd car while it's Arab driver stood alongside. I called Nadi, and we agreed that this didn't seem like a good time to be  crawling back and forth under the fence.  I decided to wait, but after a few minutes it's hard to look busy standing at a gas station without buying gas or something. I kicked the tires a few times trying to look worried (that wasn't too hard). The attendants saw my dilemna, and knew what was going on right away. They pulled up a chair and I joined them in the brilliant winter sunlight. After a while, the police left, and I called Nadi. He arrived with his son (Ata couldn't make it), and we put the olive oil in my car. We chatted a bit about what a beautiful day it was and the war.  We both agreed that it wouldn't be the last one of either.  He invited me to his home for coffee, but we both knew that I wouldn't go into the village this time.