It has long been a running joke between Joe and myself that I am indifferent to the dangers of having low gas levels in the car. When I drive he is constantly checking the fuel gage and making comments about gas stations. He has been known to break out in a cold sweat on Interstate 55.
When the refuel light comes on and I see his tension rising I always say, and I mean always, "I'm good for 20 miles".
And then I looked it up in the vehicle manual and found out I had an extra gallon adding another 30+ miles I could now say, "I'm good for 50 miles", but I do not want to give him a coronary.
On my way home the other day the refuel light came on and I felt that touch of annoyance rush over me. I hate to fill up with the gas prices being where they are now! Who would have thought that finding gas under $3.80 would be cause for celebration? While in Memphis over the week-end I gassed up at $3.31 and loved the feeling of not feeding over $50 into the proverbial black hole. The prices in Louisville are much higher than in Tennessee. A lot higher. So I fired up the computer and found the lowest gas prices in the metro area, which was $3.51 at the station located at Bashford Manor Mall.
I'll be damned! I was heading over to my brothers for dinner and the Mall was fairly close by! I could save big money by heading over there! And by big money, I mean approximately $3!!!!
And with my new found discovery that the reserve was around 50 miles, I was confidant that I could make it.
After my visit I flipped the trip and began to pay attention to the mileage thinking that I had not actually looked and the gage was **gasp** under the E.
4.9 miles to the Mall and I felt a rush of what must have been relief as I pulled up to a gas pump.
But only momentarily.
I turned my purse upside down and poured out all the contents on the passenger seat. Horrors and double horrors I had no wallet!! I could see it plain as day sitting next to the computer as I had ordered something on line before leaving for my mothers birthday.
Now I was in a cold sweat.
I had two one dollar bills on me. In the ash tray was another $1.25 and checking under the seat and in the trunk I could another 75 cents.
Enough for a little over one gallon. Needless to say, the needle did not move very much and kept its secure little home under the bigger than life E.
50 miles did not seem like much of a life line on the drive home.
This story ends well, as I made it and the trip says it was only a 26 mile gamble from my bro's house, a little gas added, to my the comfort of my drive way. A huge sigh of relief escaped from my clamped lips, my hands relaxed from their death grip on the steering wheel and the paralyzing fear of running out of gas on the I-65 Spaghetti Junction Bridge becoming a faint memory I sashayed triumphant into the house.
I guess Joe wins this one, but don't tell him.