Running on Fumes No More

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Well, I guess it was a matter of time.

If you know me, you know I always run my car on fumes.

It is a bad habit. And, we all know how long it takes to break a habit- especially a bad one.

I fully acknowledge it is living life on the edge. I know that some people will see it as a tad bit irresponsible, especially when transporting five children ten years of age and under.

I also acknowledge that when the gas light comes on, it does not mean that you can defiantly- without -a- doubt drive 50 miles before stopping at the gas station, no matter what the owners manual says. And for whatever reason, today the gas gage moved from ‘E’ to past ‘E’ rather fast and very unexpectedly.

But to my defense, I have lived life on the edge for 16 years and this is the first time I’ve run out of gas. Pretty good track record if you ask me.

Today I learned that ‘E’ on my dashboard does not mean EVACUATE. It positively means EMPTY.

Here is the breakdown of events.

In the mist of customers from all over the metro-plex needing urgent heating work done as the weatherman threatens teen digit temperatures in the morning, our business phones have been busy, frantic and leaving me somewhat stressed.

I had a mental note to get gas on my way to pick kids up from school today, but for whatever reason, my handy dandy brain was slacking today. (Besides, I’ve gone a couple of days on ‘E’ before. Kidding! Kind of.)

I get Garrett and Anthony from school, with the twins and baby Matthew in tow, and I am off to get gas at the nearby station.

Suddenly I notice the gas gage fall far beyond the empty line.

Hum, that is odd.

My Suburban starts to kind of…. what would you call it…. shimmy and shake.

Boys, I think this means danger.

We are coming up on a traffic light at a rather busy intersection, but the gas station is just on the other side of the light.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can….

The Suburban starts to sputter. Pushing the accelerator is not helping. The car is dying.

Anthony and Garrett state the obvious, like natural men, and tell me ‘I think we are running out of gas’.

Ya think?

As the nose of my car makes it knee deep into the intersection, my Suburban clunks out.

I am serious.

Houston, we have a problem.

Did I mention this was a very busy intersection? Right on the frontage road of a high traffic interstate?

I follow the directions of the smarty pants 10 year old passenger and try repeatedly to start the Suburban… again, and again, and again. It will not start.

I put on my hazards.

I quickly call Lenny and proceed to freak out on the phone. Nothing gets his panties in a wad, as he lives life on the edge as well and would likely be able to get much more mileage out of his gas light if he would just remove some of the trash from his work van. Nonetheless, he is quickly on his way to help us.

But no matter how quickly he arrives to rescue us, seven minutes sitting in an intersection, with people flipping you the bird, yelling at you, throwing their arms in the air acting as if you are painting your fingernails in the middle of the street as you block their work day commute, makes for a very long seven minutes of humiliation and danger.

They all see I am just a woman. With a car full of kids. They see I am stranded. They must know that hazard lights do not indicate an after school party.

Or one would think.

One woman yells at me with her hands in the air as her husband buzzes by completely annoyed that I have inconvenienced them.

One man in a nice business suit and driving a new light sea foam green Ford Explorer with the license plate &^$ – &^%# drives up to the nose of my car yelling as if I enjoy playing chicken.

Finally I dig a blue crayon out of my purse and write on the back of a sheet of paper ‘OUT OF GAS’. But when people are mad, they become illiterate.

As my ten year old has his arm out the window waving the angry honkers to pass around us, suddenly a mid-twenties fella driving a black late 90’s Acura Integra pulled into the nearby Starbucks. He runs across the intersection and asks if he can help.

By himself, he pushed my super heavy Suburban out of the intersection and into the Starbucks parking lot.

Suddenly I am in heaven as he delivers me to my favorite coffee spot. (But I do not tell him that.)

I could not thank him enough.

As he is getting in his car to leave, Lenny pulls in the parking lot and runs to the guy’s car to thank him for helping his family. Lenny gratefully gives the man a few bucks and he refuses to take it. He told Lenny it was an honor to help his family.

An honor.

Lenny puts gas in the car. It still will not start. We pop the hood and he puts gas directly into some mechanical component and finally the car stays engaged.

I will say this, Lenny is always the first guy to stop and help someone stranded on the side of the road. Be it a man, a woman, or just any person. A flat tire, out of gas, or just broke down.

Acura Man was the only person out of probably 100+ cars that passed us by that even offered to help.

He was not inconvenienced.

He was not put out.

He was not angry.

He just wanted to help.

He showed my family that good hearts and selflessness still exists in 2010. I know you too had somewhere to go, just like the fancy man in the suit and tie driving the Ford Explorer. But you cared to stop. You cared enough to lend a hand.

For every car that passed us today, at 3:34 pm in the intersection of Precinct Line Rd and Hwy 121, that was eagerly showing me their middle finger and cursing and yelling as I caused you trouble during an afternoon commute of pure discomfort, please know you taught my boys a lesson today as well. I am certain they will never treat a stranded driver that way. It really showed your selfish side as you pretended to be the only person needing to get somewhere. They learned the definition of the word apathy- at your expense.

Angry drivers, please know that I had a car full of children. If I had gotten out of the car, four out of five children, would have frantically followed me like little ducklings following their momma. Furthermore, it was safest for us to sit in the car and wait for my husband, than to insanely rush five children, who likely would have dispersed in every direction, across an intersection of danger.

But why should I explain, you can not read blue crayon nor do you acknowledge hazard lights.

Lenny has since advised that if I am going to run out of gas with five boys in the car, at least wait until they are big enough to push me out of the intersection.

And Anthony, who is eight years old, had the best advice yet. After all was said and done and we had a full tank of gas, he said ‘Next time, I think we should get gas before it says ‘E’ ‘.

I must say, I agree with him.