The Car, The Incline, and The Man Who Brought Them Together

One hour ago, I went out for Taco Bell. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I am particularly fat. On the way, I happened upon a poor soul who was jumping up and down in front of his car, which was planted in the middle of the right lane; thankfully (for his sake) I was feeling magnanimous and didn't run his stupid ass over. I pulled in front of his car and inquired what the problem was. Keep in mind, his car was parked in the middle of street with no caution lights or any discernable light source within 500 ft of his location. He explained that he ran out of gas and asked if I would push his car 1000ft (give or take way too fucking much) to the gas station.

I had three major reservations with his request:

• First of all, I am morbidly obese and physically unable to push a car 10 ft, making the requisite 1000 foot distance all but impossible.
• Secondly, the nearest gas station was located on a slight incline, as was much the distance required to get there. And, as we all know pushing a car up a hill, slight as it may appear, often results in: Oh Shit, Oh Shit. SPLAT... If you’re God, why do you have horns on your head and an engorged goat vagina where you face should be?
• Finally, who in their right mind would run out of gas, in the first place? Then forget to use their emergency blinkers while stranded in the middle of the road. I had a strong inkling he wanted to rob, rape and pillage me.
  

I told him that pushing his car to the gas station was a bad idea; instead I would drive him there and fill up a container. I pushed his car 10 or so feet to the right and told him to turn on his emergency lights. As luck would have it, only one light worked. Since I don't routinely carry a gas container, I assumed the gas station would have one. You know what they say about assumptions; they require a non-retarded bitch to be true. The station attendant didn't have a container, nor did he have one to sell. I mentioned using a giant soda cup would work; the attendant shook his head and said he wouldn't allow it. Apparently my good deed was going to be more pushing than usual.

I drove to the next gas station, which happened to be part of a large retail store and purchased a container. Why did I purchase it? There is a very rationale reason why: The kid didn't have any money because he "left it at his apartment." The container only cost $3.50 or 3 1/2 Taco Supremes. It held one gallon and half, which cost $2.50 or 1 Chicken Quesadilla. After investing half of my potential Taco feast in a stupid kid and his inability to keep gas in his care, I drove him back to the car. The police were waiting, since this road was fairly well traveled, even at midnight, and it wouldn't do to have a car blocking a lane. I explained the situation to the officers, since the kid seemed to clam up at the sight of their uniforms and, for some inexplicable reason, could not speak. After he poured in the gas, I took my container and continued my lard induced journey. The kid did mutter, "God Bless You" or was it "God Damn It" when I pulled away.

The officers stuck around, though. They were still there, as was the kid, when I was coming home, fifteen minutes later.

The moral of the story: I am fat, oh and one should never stop to help a stranded driver. Odds are that they deserve it. I can only hope he was busted for drug possession.


Go to Hell