Picked up my friend from the airport today and, for a treat, was going to take her to the Dip Dog for dinner. The light on the gas gauge had come on about eight miles from home, but I thought (and so did the Mister) we had enough to get to the nearest station on the way. After all, it was only 15 miles, so it should be fine. Right?
As we started up the last mountains, there was a sickening lurge, sputter, and then, stop. We coasted off the road, and the Mister said, "Do you think it will coast back to the store?" Our cell phones had No Signal, so this seemed a good idea.
Fortunately, we coasted down to Jerry's store where there is a pay phone. Unfortunately, no one answered at Shelly's house (they were the closest) and we had only $1 in change and didn't want to use it leaving a message that they might not get for a while. As we debated who to call next, two trucks stopped and some fellas were chatting. I walked over, smiling in my most charming manner, and asked one of the men if he would either give my husband a lift or bring us some gas.
He brought us gas. Really. And he had to pay for the gas can to do it! Of course we paid him more than what the gas, can, and his gas cost, and were very grateful to do it. He even stayed until the car started to be sure it would.
While we didn't get to Dip Dog, we did manage to find a Hardee's (bleh) that was open and had some dinner. Now, we have another trip planned, with lots of gas in the tank, to get that elusive Dip Dog,
Isn't the world a wonderful place? Oh, and we now know that the car will only go 40 miles when the light is on and another 2 on fumes...