Out of gas, patience
After a long day at work on Friday, I just wanted to get home. I stopped just long enough to grab a couple of frozen pizzas so that I didn’t have to cook. When I started the car at the grocery store, I noticed my gas light was on, so I figured it would be wise to stop and fill up before I headed out of town.
When I pulled into the pump a few minutes later, I thought I smelled fuel. Not an out-of-the-ordinary smell for a gas station, but I looked at my car nonetheless. It was then that I saw a liquid trail following me, as well as a growing damp spot underneath my car.
I immediately attempted to call my husband for advice. It was nice outside, so I was not surprised when he didn’t answer. I decided to call AAA first and then try my husband again while awaiting my tow truck.
I was ill-prepared for the instructions that AAA gave me. They told me to call the fire department and have them drain the fuel from my vehicle. They said to have the gas station attendant put absorbent material under my car to sop up the leaking fuel. And they told me under no circumstances to start the car – as it could ignite – causing far larger problems.
When I went to talk to the attendant, he was less concerned. He told me he would hose the lot down later, that I could call the fire department if I felt it necessary (and only begrudgingly gave me a phone book), and if I could do him a favor while I waited, could I pull my car away from the pump I was blocking.
The firefighter who answered at the department I called suggested that I call 911 to expedite the process of discerning which department was to respond to my request for assistance, while also informing me that they would not drain any fuel from my vehicle when they arrived. Great, thanks.
Then, a handful of loud, strange men came over to my car to inform me that they were going to push my car away from the pump. I informed them right back that no one was touching my car until I had spoken with my husband.
After another hour or so, during which time I had to call a neighbor to get my husband to the telephone, my car was relocated to the Dumpster area by the big and burlies, and my pizzas had become less than frozen, my husband arrived with his trailer to rescue me. Too bad all of the fuel had leaked out of my car by that time and it wouldn’t start long enough to drive up the ramps.
After another call to AAA and three hours total, a tow truck finally arrived. Just as he was hooking the chain to my front wheel, he received an emergency call and was pulled off my job to go assist. I kid you not – he unhooked from my car and left.
But not before we gave him the key to my car and asked him to release us from gas station purgatory. Then we went to dinner together before heading home.
I figured, three hours on a Friday night minus our kids and plus a restaurant dinner equals a date, right? Even if we were trying to avoid sparks the whole evening.
Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@hughes.net.