Today was one of those 'run out of gas on the 101- climb a barbed wire fence to get to Chevron' kind of Thursdays. Flashback to me passing gas station, after gas station because *even though I know cars need gas to run*, I hate the feeling of spending $40, so I test it. every. damn. time. I know one of these days a scientist will escape from whatever island BP is keeping them on and show us how gasoline is really just windshield-wiper fluid and cars can run on "batteries" that "charge" in the "sun". I'm probably on some sort of hit list now so please tell my family I love them, but I still don't forgive anyone for the Christmas of '94.
Anyway, a lovely Asian woman helped me flag down a lovely Mexican teen and together we decided it was too hard to push my car up the on-ramp so we all let go and it crunched into a nice, out of the way ditch. From there they both said, "good luck" and sped away in their fully operating vehicles leaving me to cross 4 lanes of traffic, mount a dirt hill on all fours and climb a barbed wire fence. It would not be an exaggeration to say this was the most fun i've had while crying. Once everything was properly ripped/bleeding I walked a few city blocks to the nearest gas station.
The dirt hill left me looking and feeling "very Sasquatch" so I bought myself a Snickers to eat in front of the homeless man at my gas pump. I filled up a small, overpriced red cube with $2 worth of gas and headed back toward my abandoned car. Only a block away from Chevron, my survival instincts flared up and I began collecting sticks and trash off the ground for the fire I would inevitably build to cook my leather belt and shoes. I found the second half of the Snickers in my pocket and dropped all the trash on the ground.
Back at the giant fence, I took off my dinner belt to wear like an ammo sash (I really hope you're following) with the gas can bumping against my leg and started climbing. From there it was just a small drop and roll down the dirt hill. The Sasquatch was enhanced. I darted back across traffic. Sweaty, dirty and risking my life for fuel, I made a mental note to research PTSD and military discounts.
Finally to my car, I made out with it as freeway traffic watched from both sides. It was just getting hot & heavy when delightful motorcycle cop zipped up and muttered something about me not being allowed to park in the ditch. I muttered that sometimes I wish my eyes were fire. Neither of us really needing what the other had so far offered, he watched as I emptied the red gas can into my tank and asked where I got it. I gave him the abridged version- "Chevron", and he told me Cal-Trans would have brought me a free gallon if I had just called information. I could have killed my only brother. Cal-Trans was still radioed as my car refused to start and they towed me out of the ditch, added more gas to my tank and waved goodbye. I got to my house where I sat in my car listening to a Disney playlist and flaking off face dirt for two hours. I guess what I'm trying to say in all this is that today I learned the true meaning of Hakuna Matata and it's don't walk 3 miles through Afghani terrain for something Cal-Trans will bring you for free and by that I mean bring home the tropes (like a wayward son or a stream to the river).
This is pure comedy gold
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