I had a few things I wanted to accomplish on the first Sunday of December. I had a few errands to run, a meeting to attend, and I wanted to take a nap before the Ravens and Steelers played that evening.
But it would all start with a trip to church in the morning. I had a good feeling as we braved the cold and jumped in the car. That good feeling lasted less than a few minutes.
We neared the intersection of Middle and York streets when the car sputtered. I had no inkling anything was wrong. I cranked and cranked the ignition with no positive results. This was not how I envisioned my day going.
So we called for a tow truck, I waited at the car and cursed my bad luck. I had just paid off the thing. I didn’t need this aggravation.
And speaking of aggravations, I know a car broken down near a busy intersection is a big pain in the butt for everyone, but why do people pull up close behind a car with its hazards flashing, then express surprise when the car doesn’t move? I was broken down people. I don’t like it any more than you do, but save me your theatrics because you weren’t paying attention.
Anyways. I watched in pain as the tow truck driver couldn’t even start my car with jumper cables after he towed me to a local garage. I could see the bills mounting for whatever ailed my car.
I don’t like how much I need to depend on my car, but I don’t have much of a choice. I treat it well, but know in the back of my mind that my daily commute to Baltimore coupled with all the other driving I have to do might catch up to me one day.
I had just hoped to enjoy a couple of years without a car payment or any major repairs. So I went to bed, stewing from the Ravens loss and the impending bad news about my car.
Mondays have a bad feeling about them no matter what, but slogging through my work that morning felt even worse with the car trouble hanging over my head. I finally called the garage to find out the diagnosis and received the best and worst possible news.
I ran out of gas.
That was it. Nothing broke or burned up or fell off. I just tried to push my luck and lost. I swear I thought I had another good 20 miles in the tank. I have driven pretty far without needing to fill up before.
I had never run out of gas before. I have come close, but never gone all the way to the bottom. I guess everyone has to cross this bridge once in their life. The “Low Fuel” light must have come on earlier than I recall on my drive home the previous Friday. I only had a few errands to run on Saturday, but must have misjudged how far I traveled.
That’s why I conked out on the way to church. Maybe I should have prayed more before we left.
