It is amazing that 2 relatively intelligent and resourceful adults, when presented with a new challenge, completely freak out.
This morning, I was sitting at my desk checking my e-mail when my cell buzzed and glowed.
I grabbed my phone as my co-workers stared at me.
“Um, I ran out of gas.”
“I. Ran. Out. Of. Gas.”
I’m still amazed this is possible. Apparently, Mikey made it all the way through San Francisco, across the bridge, through the rainbow tunnel and suddenly, in the middle of the freeway, ran out of gas. He coasted the entire way down the hill, off the freeway and to the side of the road near the Buckeye.
“Well, I can either walk to the gas station or you can come get me.”
“I don’t want to walk.”
“Relax. I’m coming right now.”
I raced over there, finding a frustrated Mikey sitting in the passenger seat of his huge, white Buick Regal. At this point, I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe. Sheepishly, he got into my car.
“How is this possible?”
“Shut up! Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. I left a note on my car.”
“In case a cop comes by.”
Oh. Of course.
We headed over to a gas station and I waited in the car, watching Mikey walk inside, grab a giant, red gas can from atop the Snapple themed fridge. My laughter was causing a scene, I found the site of my horrified, casual-Friday-chino’d roommate carry this gigantic plastic gas can across the station so ridiculous.
Opening the can and making it function was an ordeal in itself, requiring a profoundly embarrassed Mikey to go back into the little gas office and request scissors. They had all of the gas can accoutrements and corresponding instructions attached to the can with one of those plastic handcuff things. It actually required assembly.
We then drove back to the Buick, its hazards still unnecessarily flashing, and basically stood in the middle of the freeway off-ramp, cars whizzing by us. Mikey hates most forms of attention, and standing around holding a giant, dripping, bright red gas can was almost more than he could handle, thus making it dramatically funnier to me. So overcome by the hilarity of the situation, I actually had to brace myself on the car. Then I saw his note, scrawled on valet slip and placed under his windshield wiper.
“Ran out of gas, walking to station. Michael, 9:45am.”
I like that he signed it.
Seriously, this had become so funny to us, we were actually crying. Getting gas into the car’s gas tank involved Mikey spilling gas all over his casual-Friday-chinos, swearing a lot and screaming, “Shut up! I hate you! This isn’t funny!”
He finally got his $5 worth of gas out of his $15 bright red gas can and mostly into his giant white Buick Regal. Nervously, he started the car.
Lo and behold, putting fuel in a car makes it go.
I grabbed his little stranded note before he could driving away, promising to save it for posterity and put it on the famous bulletin board at home.
It took us 30 minutes to complete this entire process. Christ, if it were a flat tire, I’d still be laughing my ass off in the middle of a freeway. I hate to think what'll happen tomorrow when we try to assemble the new kitchen island my parents got me for my birthday...