Outta Gas. Not like in tired physically spent- more like: Out of Gas, gage pointing well below the “E.” That was me. On the side of the interstate. Sitting like a dumbass. Trying to play the dumb girl card. Calling the rental car company. On the side of the road. Car swaying as the semis flew by. Sitting in the car.
That was yesterday, and as much as I regret to say this, I am now part of that large group of idiots who have run out of gas while driving on the expressway. There is no explanation. No justification. Simply the knowledge that you are indeed a jackass who ran out of gas while driving. On the highway. Who’d’ve thunk it? Me, as smart, debonair, cosmopolitan, brilliantly brainy- sitting there with no gas in the tank.
So for all of you who’ve yet to join this moron club- here’s how it goes.
Driving down the interstate with the flow of traffic, about 75-80 mph when all of the sudden the Jeep starts slowing down even though my foot has not let off the accelerator. I pressed the accelerator even deeper, nothing. The car was still slowing down. I was in one of those alone-bubbles one sometimes gets into while on the interstate, no traffic surrounding the immediate area. I pressed the accelerator for the third time while turning off the radio and the heat to listen for the engine; complete silence- still slowing down. I looked down at the gages and the “Low Fuel” signal was staring at me brighter than the North Star.
Noooo. Never, I can’t be out of gas- I couldn’t possibly do that. Denial- always the first step when one joins any moron club of the week. But there it was, clear as the fact that I’m still not a man trapped in a girl’s body (even though I keep trying to fool myself), the gage was at least 5” below the “E” for “EMPTY.” As in “NO GAS” left in here idiot. So I rolled to a gentle stop just past the line onto the narrow right hand shoulder off I-85, 10 miles south of Greensboro, NC. What to do? I don’t know anybody anywhere near Greensboro- don’t really know anyone in NC to begin with. Well, it’s a rental, I thought; let’s see what they can do. So I called Budget and the guy answers the phone all nice and sweet like. I tell him I am experiencing car difficulties, his car difficulties. He asked what the problem was and I, still in denial, told him I thought I might be out of gas. I know he smothered a contemptuous laugh- I just know it. I probably would’ve laughed out right. He paused and then said he was sorry but that the car problem hotline for their rentals was strictly for mechanical issues. Well couldn’t you argue that the car’s mechanical parts were not functioning thus not moving me at the wanted speed to get me to my destination? Apparently not; outta gas does not qualify as reason to send out a tow truck and/or a rescue mission. He offered to give me the number to the Greensboro Budget office to see if they’d be willing to do anything. I called that office and simply said I needed a tow truck due to mechanical reasons. He didn’t ask for specifics and I didn’t offer. He took down the information and said he’d call me back. Nothing. Turned the key one more time; cough, cough, cough- no go.
I sat there trying to think of anything else to do. Since I was working, heading to a property to see an actual customer I figured maybe I could call one of them, they’re builders and stuff; drive around in big trucks with all kinds of shit on it. Maybe- just maybe one of then had a gas can full of gas just sitting around in their truck. You know, just like I have wads of cash lying around on account of I work for the bank and all. I figured it couldn’t really get any worse so I called the guy whose project I was heading to, he said he wasn’t around the area but that his contractor, Mike, was and he’d have him call me. Oh, well. I figured I’d let the tow-truck and or Mike rescue me and take it from there, when suddenly I look over to my right and there’s this shining, yellow-bright truck with flashing yellow and white lights and a knightly-looking gentleman shooting me an inquisitive look, rolling down his chivalry-laden window. After composing from the initial confusion, I rolled down my window just in time to hear him ask: “Having a problem?”
What-to-say-What-to-say-What-to-say?
“I think I’m out of gas,” came the asinine response from my reluctant mouth.
The hero got out of the flashing truck. Walked over to the back. Put on an electric orange jacket. Went to a compartment and retrieved a magical little red can. With Gas in it. I stepped out to talk to him and thanked him about a thousand times. Told him I could no longer make fun of stupids who ran out of gas while driving on the highway. He smile and poured some more gas into my tank. Yes! I’m saved. I watched him finish, feeling completely ridiculous, hoping none of the speeding semis would hit him or his truck or the Jeep or me, so we wouldn’t be crushed to death at such an anticlimactic point of both our lives. He placed the gas cap back onto my starving tank and sent me on my way. He told me to go to Exit 119, where I’d find the nearest gas station. I thanked him again and shook his hero hand. Got back into the jeep. Called Budget to cancel the tow truck, told the guy I had “gotten the car started again.” Called Mike who was supposed to be on his way but was still at Home Depot and flew over to Exit 119- where I was most excited to find a Citgo and most excited to feed the starving Jeep to get me off the stupid list.
That was yesterday, and as much as I regret to say this, I am now part of that large group of idiots who have run out of gas while driving on the expressway. There is no explanation. No justification. Simply the knowledge that you are indeed a jackass who ran out of gas while driving. On the highway. Who’d’ve thunk it? Me, as smart, debonair, cosmopolitan, brilliantly brainy- sitting there with no gas in the tank.
So for all of you who’ve yet to join this moron club- here’s how it goes.
Driving down the interstate with the flow of traffic, about 75-80 mph when all of the sudden the Jeep starts slowing down even though my foot has not let off the accelerator. I pressed the accelerator even deeper, nothing. The car was still slowing down. I was in one of those alone-bubbles one sometimes gets into while on the interstate, no traffic surrounding the immediate area. I pressed the accelerator for the third time while turning off the radio and the heat to listen for the engine; complete silence- still slowing down. I looked down at the gages and the “Low Fuel” signal was staring at me brighter than the North Star.
Noooo. Never, I can’t be out of gas- I couldn’t possibly do that. Denial- always the first step when one joins any moron club of the week. But there it was, clear as the fact that I’m still not a man trapped in a girl’s body (even though I keep trying to fool myself), the gage was at least 5” below the “E” for “EMPTY.” As in “NO GAS” left in here idiot. So I rolled to a gentle stop just past the line onto the narrow right hand shoulder off I-85, 10 miles south of Greensboro, NC. What to do? I don’t know anybody anywhere near Greensboro- don’t really know anyone in NC to begin with. Well, it’s a rental, I thought; let’s see what they can do. So I called Budget and the guy answers the phone all nice and sweet like. I tell him I am experiencing car difficulties, his car difficulties. He asked what the problem was and I, still in denial, told him I thought I might be out of gas. I know he smothered a contemptuous laugh- I just know it. I probably would’ve laughed out right. He paused and then said he was sorry but that the car problem hotline for their rentals was strictly for mechanical issues. Well couldn’t you argue that the car’s mechanical parts were not functioning thus not moving me at the wanted speed to get me to my destination? Apparently not; outta gas does not qualify as reason to send out a tow truck and/or a rescue mission. He offered to give me the number to the Greensboro Budget office to see if they’d be willing to do anything. I called that office and simply said I needed a tow truck due to mechanical reasons. He didn’t ask for specifics and I didn’t offer. He took down the information and said he’d call me back. Nothing. Turned the key one more time; cough, cough, cough- no go.
I sat there trying to think of anything else to do. Since I was working, heading to a property to see an actual customer I figured maybe I could call one of them, they’re builders and stuff; drive around in big trucks with all kinds of shit on it. Maybe- just maybe one of then had a gas can full of gas just sitting around in their truck. You know, just like I have wads of cash lying around on account of I work for the bank and all. I figured it couldn’t really get any worse so I called the guy whose project I was heading to, he said he wasn’t around the area but that his contractor, Mike, was and he’d have him call me. Oh, well. I figured I’d let the tow-truck and or Mike rescue me and take it from there, when suddenly I look over to my right and there’s this shining, yellow-bright truck with flashing yellow and white lights and a knightly-looking gentleman shooting me an inquisitive look, rolling down his chivalry-laden window. After composing from the initial confusion, I rolled down my window just in time to hear him ask: “Having a problem?”
What-to-say-What-to-say-What-to-say?
“I think I’m out of gas,” came the asinine response from my reluctant mouth.
The hero got out of the flashing truck. Walked over to the back. Put on an electric orange jacket. Went to a compartment and retrieved a magical little red can. With Gas in it. I stepped out to talk to him and thanked him about a thousand times. Told him I could no longer make fun of stupids who ran out of gas while driving on the highway. He smile and poured some more gas into my tank. Yes! I’m saved. I watched him finish, feeling completely ridiculous, hoping none of the speeding semis would hit him or his truck or the Jeep or me, so we wouldn’t be crushed to death at such an anticlimactic point of both our lives. He placed the gas cap back onto my starving tank and sent me on my way. He told me to go to Exit 119, where I’d find the nearest gas station. I thanked him again and shook his hero hand. Got back into the jeep. Called Budget to cancel the tow truck, told the guy I had “gotten the car started again.” Called Mike who was supposed to be on his way but was still at Home Depot and flew over to Exit 119- where I was most excited to find a Citgo and most excited to feed the starving Jeep to get me off the stupid list.
