But there are exceptions.
Yesterday my sister-in-law and I were driving home from visiting family. Our low fuel light was on but I was pretty sure that I could make it the couple of miles it was to the gas station to fuel up. It was early morning and because I was in a rush to pack, do laundry, and clean, I hadn't exactly gotten ready for the day yet. I looked pretty sexy in my pajama pants, baggy shirt, and princess shoes.
|These are my princess shoes, as Tyler calls them. They were the only shoes I had brought so it was this or go barefoot.|
We hadn't even gone a mile when we started to slow down. Huh, that's weird, I thought. So I stepped on the gas. Nothing. I pushed it a little more. Nothing.
We really were completely out of gas. Lovely.
My first thought was that I would have to push the truck. My sister-in-law offered to push but she is pregnant and I have some class. I'm not going to make a pregnant lady push a truck! So I got out, in my hobo glory, and started to push. Um...pushing a truck is hard work. I know that seems like common sense but in my defense, I was by myself and it was a truck.
I just knew that because I was a girl, pushing a truck, looking like I just crawled out of a dumpster, someone would have pity on us and help. Sure enough, soon someone pulled over. In retrospect, I would have just rather pushed the car.
An older man came to our rescue. He offered to pull us, if we had chains, to a gas station. I didn't have chains. However, what I did have was a small 1 gallon gas container that Tyler found on the side of the road. We're just klassy like that. It's okay, embrace the jealousy bubbling up inside of you now.
So I got the gas can and realized that I had very limited choices. I would have to get in the car with a complete stranger to hopefully get some gasoline, or I could walk. I chose to get in a car with a complete stranger-man.
As I left my sister-in-law and Jack on the side of the road, panic began to slowly rise within me. At that moment, I knew two of things:
1. I was going to be kidnapped and kept as a sex slave for the rest of my life until he killed me to which they would never find the body.
2. Refer to #1
As I got in the car, I was already planning my escape and looking around for any tools to MacGyver my way to freedom. I'll jump, dangit! I'll do a jump roll right out of this car if I have to! I saw an ice scraper and a windshield sun protector in the back seat. If he didn't stop, I could bludgeon him with the ice scraper and try to smother him with the windshield sun protector if I had to. You have to understand that I was in survival mode then.
My nerves cooled as he pulled into the gas station. He told me to get fuel while he made a stop at the liquor store nextdoor. Okay... I'm sure I looked like an emotionless robot. I was skeptical and stiff as I got out of the car to fuel up.
Now, I know that filling up a gas container should, in theory, be no different than filling up a car. But I could NOT get it to work. WTF? I tried three different pumps before my captor (or so he seemed to me) helped me fuel up.
When we got back into the car and started to head back to the truck, my nerves relaxed a bit. Maybe he'll let me go free after all; with no struggle! But the conversation was just as bad as the thought of being a captive sex slave.
Him: You know, you gals should really be more careful...sheesh, running out of gas...
Me: Yeah, I know, we were on our way to fuel up.
Him: Why didn't you go to the gas station that was just down the street from where you started?
Me: Well, I didn't think about that. I never go to that gas station.
Him: Well, neither do I but still...
Him: That's a pretty crappy gas container you have, I hope a gallon will get you to the gas station.
Me: Yeah, it's my husbands container and I think we'll be okay.
Him: Well why didn't you stop on the reservation?
Me: Because we thought we could make it since the light *just* came on.
Him: Well now you know......I'm going to let you fuel it up because I don't want gas spilled all over me.
Thanks Mr. Lecture-know-it-all! Geez...give a gal a break here!
But he was right, I did spill it all over myself and smelt like gasoline. Before he left he gave my one more kind words of advise.
Him: Uh, I would not put the gas container back in the cab if I were you!
Um, hey, you're talking to a person who is majoring in hazardous materials and the like. I'm not an idiot.
In the end, I wasn't taken captive and it all worked out but I've learned my lesson: I will never run out of gasoline again!