Running on empty

I could hear the situation long before I pulled into growing the left-turn lane. Late afternoon and the scramble was on with motorists to get home or wherever they were going after work. Horns were blaring and I could hear some of the angry comments coming from the open windows of the three inpatient drivers’ ahead of me.

A battered Buick Century was in the lane, its bumper and backlights held together with Duct tape and bungee cords. The tailpipe was dangling maybe six inches above the ground and the emergency flashers weakly warned a timeout. When the driver stepped out of the car, he held a one-gallon milk jug in one hand and was jiggling change perhaps he had found beneath the front seat or ashtray.

The Speedway gas station was less than a football field away, but the Buick’s gas tank was empty.

Emptier was the look on his downcast face. So close and so far away. Then he looked at the inpatient honkers with question marks in his eyes, sweat pouring down his face and then shrugged his shoulders. Sorry y’all. Stuff happens.

As I pulled up next to the vehicle, I noticed a young woman sitting in the passenger seat, fanning herself with a Target ad insert. I asked if I could do anything.

No sir, but thank you. We just need to get a bit of gas and get on our way. Sorry if we’re blocking ya, sir. We’ll be okay!”

Then the horns began goosing and threatening me. I deliberately held my place as the light turned red. With all due respect, those folks behind me could just shut the hell up.

I have been in similar situations as a younger man. Call them unfortunate circumstances, bad Karma. Whaever. In the end, they all seem to converge. Possessing a college education and respectable position in a professional position doesn’t shield you from financial worries; it just opens the door.

Driving a beat-up Zephyr in 1981, bumping over country roads in Posey County, Ind., and on my way to homicide story for The Mount Vernon Democrat. Gas fumes gave up the ghost. I stood outside the car wringing my hands.

Over the hill came an Indiana State Police cruiser speeding to the same scene and the trooper slowed, recognized me and knew I was headed the same way. He invited me to hop in and took me to the scene. After I got my quotes and photos and his work was done, we stopped at a gas station to fill the Zephyr’s thirst and get me back to the newsroom to file my story. He paid for the gas because I didn’t have a cent in my pocket.

Flash-forward  maybe four years later. I had lobbied hard to get a coveted job with United Press International in the Indianapolis bureau, performing under the Big Tent of wire journalism. I was on my way home from a late shift and my Chevette sucked its last fumes along a busy roadway on Indy’s far northwest side. The snow was ankle deep and the wind kicking.

I stood by the dark roadway waving the red plastic container. Finally, a battered Vista Cruiser station wagon stopped. A family returning from a revival at a local church. I happily sat in the middle of the station wagon as they took me to the nearest filling station, returned me and made sure I was on the road again. I had enough coins to foot my bill.

Before pulling away, the driver asked if there was anything else they could do. No, thank you much. Their simple act of decency on a cold, bleak night warmed and filled me in ways beyond an empty gas tank. I was able to get back to my warm apartment safely.

On balance – considering the ups and downs of hiking across this mortal coil – I have been far more blessed than screwed by misfortune or caught in the corkscrew of Fate, as it were.And bad choices.

What I have come to believe is that most of us are fairly resilient beings. We can handle the major devastations of what life throws at us: cancer and any other life-changing disease; death, divorce and family upheavals; and the loss of a job, security and myriad future dreams and plans.

Ironically, it is the simple things, badgering us daily, which seem to mount up. 

The shoestring that breaks or the run in the pantyhose moments before you are to give a formal presentation. The kid who is running a slight fever at day care and that call from your credit card company when you’re only a few days behind.

On and on and on. The carousel all of us must ride.

And it’s the beat-up jalopy dying of thirst in a busy intersection at rush hour If that bothers you, then layoff your horns and get off your butts to ease the situation.

Life in the fast lane needs to slow down. Our passage of time goes fast enough. And we are blessed if we are running on empty and someone comes along willing to help.