February 18, 2004
Gas tank level personality gauge
By
Herald Editor
Earlier this week, I committed a grievous crime. My transgression did not involve felonies, misdemeanors or civil infractions, but a gas gauge. I took a trip into the E.
I grew up in a half-full gas tank family. Ever since I turned over my first ignition key, I've faithfully followed my father's philosophy of keeping the needle above half - without fail in winter. You could be forgiven for forgetting to steer with the skid, but condensation in the fuel lines was a sin.
Whether you're a half-full or half-empty driver, the gas tank level is an interesting personality gauge.
Type F people dutifully keep above the half mark no matter the weather, work schedule or price per gallon. Most can rattle off their car's miles per gallon - both city and highway. Even in light of the apocalypse, the Type F would go out with a full tank.
On the other side of the pump is the Type E person. For most Type E people, a car is something that gets you from point A to point B. However, the path of life is rarely a straight line. Which means frequent trips into work, school, the grocery store and the low fuel light. Type E people could never be accused of coasting through life - only into the gas station.
I fall somewhere around the halfway mark. I'm the type of guy who would run into the E searching for penny a gallon cheaper gas to make a F tank road trip.
It is exactly this dualistic EF nature that nearly made me run out of gas - at a gas station grand opening. Ludicrous as it sounds, I wasted 35 minutes (and unknown amounts of fuel) waiting in line for 99 cent gasoline. After a half-hour in line, the Jeep's radiator and my temper were way past the boiling point. A smarter man would have pulled out of line eons ago, but now it was a matter of cents not sense.
Unfortunately, I was working against the clock since the grand opening had a time limit. As the final minutes ticked down, a Buick barge blocked all three gas pumps. The owner was apparently inside disputing the drachma- dollar exchange rate or examining Twinkie expiration dates. By the time I reached for the 87 octane, the gas sale ran dry.
Thankfully, I only have one running out of gas story. My friend Matt and I were traveling home late one night from a rock concert in his father's truck. The AM receiver only picked up Rush Limbaugh and static, so we decided to have our own live concert. Right about the time we reached the chorus to "Hotel California" the needle hit empty. Luckily, the truck coasted almost a mile, which meant we only had to walk another 10 into town.
I guess it must have been a full moon, because the following events occurred over the next thirty minutes:
- the one and only vehicle that zooms past the disabled truck bears the vanity license plate belonging to my dad. Until that moment I never knew ironic was really a four-letter word.
- we get the bright idea to push a 3,500 pound vehicle to the next side road. Uphill no less.
- call it happenstance, but my girlfriend's parents lived a short walk down that same side road.
- I find out that knocking on your girlfriend's front door at 1 a.m. brings out the family dog's fangs and your future father-in-law in his boxer shorts.
- my future father-in-law actually drops me off at home instead of the bottom of the lake with cement block shoes.
Later that morning, I asked my dad if he saw a truck on the side of the road with its hazard lights on and two young guys nearby, frantically waving their arms. I think dad said he mistook us for potential psychopaths lying in wait on a deserted rural highway. Actually, he probably thought we were even worse criminals - Type E people.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com