I have completely run out of gas in my car two times in my life. This may not seem like a lot to some of you, but I’ve only been a licensed driver for 9 years, so that’s not a great statistic; for others, I’m sure that number seems staggering. I think the first time it happened I called my Grandmother to chat while I waited for AAA and her response was, “How does that happen? Is your gas light broken?”
My gas light is fine, but for some reason it does not evoke the appropriate amount of urgency in me to stop at a station. There is always some reason not to stop. In the summer it is too hot and I can admit that for a girl I sweat like a furry beast so that is out of the question. In the winter it is too cold, and while I love the cold, I’m never appropriately dressed for it. Peep toe 4″ heels with leggings and a skirt doesn’t say “gas pumping ensemble” to me. Then there is any time it is windy, when it rains, ozone alert days and nighttime, all potentially deadly.
Most commonly the reason I can’t stop is that I’m running late and there is no time. Thus starts the game of “What’s the farthest I think I can make it once the light has turned on?” I once was on a date with a guy whose fancy car counted down the miles you had left and I brought it up and remarked that it must be nice to not have to play that game. He informed me that he had let it get to zero on more than one occasion and the car kept running (I can only imagine that was because the designers of that feature knew that people would ignore their useful technology and drive on reguardless) I guess when you look at it as a game I’m actually doing pretty well; figure I play every time my tank gets low, and I’ve only lost twice. A sports team that was at 234 and 2 would be the grand champions of the world. Yeah… I’m doing fine.
Those wondering where 234 came from, figure gas every two weeks for 9 years: 26 x 9 = 234
Learning to be Funny 