The Hellhole

Thursday, August 21, 2008

This afternoon before I'd even made it out of my parking deck, my car bonged the "Feed me! Feed me expensive petroleum products!" bong. Really I should have filled up before my morning commute but I was running exactly on time, and if I'd stopped at the gas station that would have put me late. I hate being late. I hate being late even though 97% of the time, no one knows if I'm late or not. I mentioned on Elle's blog that I share an office with The Boss, and that's true: there is one very large office with two desks, credenzas, guest chairs, a table with an artful array of out-of-date magazines, a bunch of file cabinets (and another small file room with still more file cabinets, a mini-fridge and microwave). However, The Boss has two other offices, and as he is Very Busy and Important, he also takes a lot of outside meetings. So, yah, we share the downtown office but he's very rarely in it so it's not a big deal.

But I digress - I didn't stop for gas this morning because I didn't want to be late, even though most of the time no one notices or cares whether I am or not. So this afternoon my car started bitching at me before I'd escaped the parking deck. The nearest gas station is about 1.8 miles away, and the nearest non-skanky gas station is around the corner, 2.2 miles away. Obviously, I prefer the non-skanky one, which is a Shell, and as it happens I own some Shell stock so I feel better about paying exorbitant prices for gas if I console myself that someday, countless fractions of half-pennies on the dollar will wend their way back into my investment account.

So it wasn't a long journey by any means, and I think my car will go 30 -35 miles once the feed-me bonging starts, but I fretted and worried and obsessively checked the fuel gauge the entire way. I cursed inwardly at each driver who dared! to stop! at an intersection! to turn! I became nearly apoplectic while idling at stoplights. I don't know why I'm like that; I mean, worrying wasn't going to make the slightest difference. I was either going to make it or not, and have to deal with it or not, and logically I knew that of course I could go 2.2 miles without running out of fuel - but I fretted and worried and obsessed. I think I do that far too often - worry about things before they happen, worry about things that probably aren't ever going to happen - but even when I know I'm being ridiculous (like freaking that it might take over 1/8 tank of gas to go 2 miles) I can't seem to stop.

Nothing happened, however. I made it to the Shell station, fueled up and arrived home without incident - unless hearing the new Metallica single counts as an incident. Notwithstanding the sheer crapitude of 90% of what hits the Atlanta airwaves, ugh! I was SO not impressed. The 80s called - they want their power ballad back.

6 Comments:

  • "The 80s called - they want their power ballad back."

    Haha. The 80s were the golden age of music. Nothing's original anymore.

    By Blogger A Margarita, at 9:09 AM  

  • Helly has a fancy car, so she has "Bongy the Petrol Demon". I have a less fancy car, so all I have is "Flashy the You're Almost Out of Gas You Moron" light. Not nearly as cool, let me tell you. Although, the light is sort of shaped like a gas pump, and if I squint my eyes, I can pretend it looks sort of like Master Shake.

    By Blogger Alan Bowman, at 1:53 PM  

  • You need to knock that shit off. Otherwise you might wind up like me and run out of gas in the middle of I-75 on a busy day.

    Since then I get extremely nervous if I get below even an eighth of a tank.

    cheers,
    Phil

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 5:00 PM  

  • Damn, Phil, that was a scary story! From now on I'm filling up every time I hit 1/2 tank.

    I've never truly run out of gas. I locked my keys in the car once, but I don't consider that my fault because this was back in the day when you got one key for the ignition and another for the doors/trunk (remember The Oldynne Dayes, kids?) and I had grabbed the keys and keyring, but the door key had fallen off the ring.

    I have a friend, however, who locked her keys in the car WHILE IT WAS RUNNING. That takes a special talent. She's a blonde, and we rubbed that in unmercifully.

    By Blogger Helly, at 5:24 PM  

  • I felt better when I realized it had taken me more than thirty years to run out of gas for the first time. (Well, not thirty years of DRIVING, but it sounds better that way). Still, the adrenaline dumped into my system that day was enough to run me for the next several years. Just don't want to see that happen to you. :)

    I have likewise only locked my keys in my car once -- when I was hundreds of miles from home, visiting a friend at Clemson University. Can you say "locksmith"? Since then I ALWAYS know where my keys are.

    cheers,
    Phil

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 11:23 PM  

  • I know just how you felt - I almost brought myself to tears, sitting in line at the gas pump, fearful that I'd run out of gas before the current patron finished, paid and pulled away.....

    Guess it 'runs' in the family (heh)

    mom

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 7:41 AM  

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