Just Get Gas, Part II

Another Lesson Part II


Saturday morning DW loaded all the boxes in my car, we woke Annabelle up and headed out. He was going to bring the tables to our yard sale site in his truck and get them set up for me, then head back home.

When I got in my car, I was greeted by that ever so lovely ding and orange light. You know the one, or maybe you don’t, but I definitely know the one. It's the "you're running low on gas and need to fill up soon" light. Only this particular morning it was the, "I started glowing and dinging on your way home from Gainesville on Thursday and you drove all the way home and you had better ask your husband if he's got any lawn mower gas to put in your car to get you to the nearest gas station to fill up, because you're going to be lucky to make it down your driveway" light. Yep, me and that light go way back. We’ve spent lots of time together, and surprisingly, as much as it stays lit up, the fuse hasn’t yet burned out.

DW was already backed out and headed down the driveway and all I saw were his tail lights. Oh, no. I grabbed my phone and tried to call him....after several rings, it goes to voice mail. Let me just interject here that he ALWAYS has his cell phone and ALWAYS answers it. Me? Not so much. Him? ALWAYS. This particular time of need? Nope.

He was headed down to the shop to look for a rack for me to hang some stuff on, so I waited for him to come back by at the end of our driveway, with my car turned off. He stopped on his way back and I told him my gas light was on. I didn’t tell him it had BEEN on, but felt it only fair to prepare him for what I thought was my inevitable running out of gas. We stopped in at my in-laws to load up some tables and then we were on the way. Thankfully my mom was here by this point and was following me to town, because DW had to run home and get something... that I forgot to get... I know, I was striking out that morning for sure.

The whole way to town I was sweating it. I was totally preparing myself that I was going to run out of gas. (which I have done twice in the past... never since we've been married though... I've tried to be better)... I turned off the A/C because I've heard that conserves gas and I even turned off the radio in hopes that somehow that might help, too. At least without it on, the Lord would be able to hear me better, begging Him to push my car those 5 miles on fumes... Within seconds I was drenched (the Florida heat is no joke, even at 7 in the morning).... I started doing the mini-swerve thing to try to slosh as much gas as I could into my fuel pump. I know, my car anatomy lingo (fuel-pump) is pretty impressive. I only know about the fuel pump and it's importance because I burnt mine up in my first car. My Dad blamed it on letting my gas tank get too low. (He's always told us to keep our gas tanks above 1/4 tank---keeps the "trash" that settles in the bottom from getting sucked up by the pump and going through your engine. Also keeps your fuel pump from working so hard.) Dad blamed me and my stubbornness to not keep my tank full, but I blamed Volkswagen and their faulty fuel pumps. Thankfully, my beetle was still under warranty and I got a new fuel pump at no cost. Maybe if I'd had to pay for it I would have learned all those years ago... But, no. It seems every car I've had, I know exactly how far I can push it with the gas light, and I always seem to do that.

I just hate pumping gas! I hate it. The handle always feels so dirty and gross and you always leave smelling like gas no matter how careful you are. Plus, I just hate taking the time to pull in and do it. Ridiculous, I know. But, still, I just can’t stand it, which is why I always wait until I absolutely HAVE to do it. This probably reveals some terrible part of my personality, but I just can’t help it…

My car was beginning to sputter a little and I could tell it was fixing to be over. I did the mini-swerve thing a couple more times and was even rocking back and forth in my seat trying to give it a push. She kept rolling. I topped the hill just outside of town and knew I was home free. As I rounded the curve, my car’s “glory-land” was in sight, but so was a bright orange cone and a flagger holding a “STOP” sign. “NOOOOOOO,” I yelled as I threw up my hands, PLEASE don’t make me stop! The flagger must have thought I was waving at him, because he flashed a smile and gave me a nod. I’m not usually one to complain about road construction, seeing as that is what pays our bills, but I had circumstances that were preventing me from supporting the asphalt industry that morning! I just knew I was going to be there for 5 minutes and that this in deed would be the spot where I’d stay until someone could bring me some gas. But, before I could even get out another whine, the flagger turned the sign to SLOW, and I punched it, hoping my fuel pump would be able to slurp up the last few drops of gas in it’s tank. Sure enough, we started rolling and rolled right in to the gas station. Praise the Lord.

I SO did not want to call Devin and tell him I’d run out of gas. Especially after I was selling his “raceday” shirt!

So there it is, girls…the lesson--- JUST GET GAS. I’ve vowed not to put myself in this predicament again. We’ll see how long it lasts… I wonder if I’m the only one who HATES pumping gas?!?!?!