How Was Your Morning?

I imagine there are worse places to run out of gas
in the frantic days just before Christmas.
But the far left turning lane
At Kietzke and Plumb is a really bad one.
One of the busiest intersections in town.

I was on my phone with my baby sister
whose own blond moments are legendary,
when the engine just quit.
Seriously?
That didn’t just happen.
I turned the key.
It turned over, but didn’t catch.
Did that a couple more times.
That sinking feeling.
Here we go.
“Damn,” I told her, “
“Just ran out of gas.”
“Gotta go.”

Had to direct cars to go around me
like a traffic cop
while I pushed the 4Runner to the shoulder
across three lanes
filled with speeding, impatient drivers.
No one stopped to help.

It’s humiliating to be so publicly helpless
So, I disguised myself
behind a mask of composure
and walked to Costco.
Fortunately, only two blocks away
since I was, ironically
headed there for gas anyway!
But Costco is big…
SO big
that it took another two blocks to get to the entrance.

Bought a gas can.
Only needed a small one
about a quart.
But Costco only sell big things.
All they had were 5-gallon cans
And they’re not really cans at all
Plastic bottles, really
Let’s just call it a bass drum with a lid
for the way it echoed when tapped.

Buying only one item at Costco
brings you unwanted attention.
And you wait in line anyway
while people in front of you
unload their half-ton of first-world excess
on the check-stand.
No, I didn’t need a box.

The bothered lady at the exit
who checked my tiny receipt
hesitated before she made her mark with a Sharpie
and shot me a look of disappointment
like I hadn’t sufficiently supported
the American economy
with my dinky little purchase.

Got a gallon of gas
of ridiculously expensive gas on the corner.
because I didn’t want to carry five.
I would rather have paid the Costco price
but I pedestrians holding gas cans
among the idling vehicles…
I don’t think so.

Tried to maintain my dignity
as I walked back to the intersection.
But you can’t be invisible
on Plumb Lane at Kietzke
as you walk down the sidewalk
and cross the street
with a fire-engine red
five-gallon gas can
slapping your leg.

I thanked my good fortune
that the Wooster High School kids
weren’t at lunch yet to heckle me.
I imagined ducking uneaten food
they threw my way.
I could hear my old-man teacher voice
saying really convincing things like,
“I don’t think you realize who I am.”
“Ya little punk.”
“I know your parents.”
Very effective.

Back at the stranded 4Runner
cars whizzed by at 50 miles per hour.
But when the light turned red
they just sat and watched me
in their heated vehicles.
I was instantly on-stage
and entertaining the local pop-up audience.

My performance anxiety peaked
as I fumbled with the infernal “safety spout”
on the gas can
that some clever millennial engineer
thought would make my life safer.
Ugh.
Good thing my phone was charged,
and I am OK-Boomer-savvy
and can find YouTube
because it took a 5-minute video to figure it out.
Simply push, pull, tilt, dispense.
That easy.

Or throw the damn thing into traffic.

The nozzles are narrow
and the bottle drained slowly.
In the 10 minutes it took
to empty a single gallon
I lost part of it down the side of the car
and soaked my pant leg.

Drove home freezing
with the windows down
so I wouldn’t suffocate
from the fumes or explode.

If it all wasn’t so
what-the-fuck comical,
I would have been really pissed.
And it wasn’t even 11 am.