Fun, Fun, Fun, in the Sun, S- No. Wait. Rain, Rain, Rain

Last night was strange, teeming with countless events of heretofore unknown bizarreness. Okay, not countless. Two. Two events of heretofore unknown bizarreness.

Firstly, I’ve never experienced filmus interruptus at the theater before. I was watching Serenity, when just past the revelation of the Alliance’s forbidden secret, the screen *shuts off* and the lights come up. Someone pulled the fire alarm! We’re ushered outside and into the parking lot, where the employees apologize for the problem and begin handing out movie passes. There was no fire, it was likely just a prank, but the fire trucks pulled up in about five minutes anyway. Way to waste their valuable time, whoever you are. And oh yeah, I want to finish the movie. Sazza fragga.

So. I’m on my way home later that night, when my car runs out of gas. At midnight. In the pouring rain. I’ve never had that happen before either. Yes, the little light was on to tell me I needed more gas, but I was planning to do it today. I should have had a good 20 more miles in the tank, but noooo.

I called AAA, who informed me after a ten-minute wait that a tow truck would be there inside 90 minutes to tow me to the nearest gas station.

“Hang on a second. Can’t you just bring a gas can? Wouldn’t that be much easier than hooking up and towing my car?”

‘Your county doesn’t do that, sir. Would you like me to send the truck?’

“Well, why can’t they just pick up some gas? I’ll be happy to pay for it.”

‘Your county doesn’t do that, sir.’

“Okay, how about they pick me up, I buy the gas, and we bring it to my car? I’m trying to save you some work, here.”

‘Your county doesn’t deliver gas, sir.’

“No. I’m saying you can deliver me. I’m okay with it. It must be simpler than hooking up— How long did you say the wait would be?”

‘Ninety minutes, sir.’

“Got it. Uh, thanks very much, but I’ll cancel.”

I called my brother. He lived only ten minutes away, and was usually up at this hour. I woke him. Oops. Turns out he’d been going to bed earlier since he quit smoking (way to go bro!), and this was the first time he’d been able to nod off before 1 so far. He picks me up, and we go off to the gas station to buy a gas can. And, you know. Gas.

The attendant is less than helpful as he doesn’t understand what it is I’m asking for, but eventually points me towards the plastic container anyway. I put about a gallon and a half in it, and we get back to my car. Where I can’t get the thing to work.

The tank has that little lid on the interior that you press into (not the one that unscrews), and the can itself has a spring-loaded nozzle that won’t open evidently unless you hold it open. It has a lip of some kind, that should theoretically catch on the gas tank opening, and the gas should go in. Instead, the fuel spilled from the supposedly leak-proof can all over my hands, and down the side of the car. Suddenly I’m a bit grateful for the rain.

A good Samaritan stops by to give us a hand, as we have yet to figure out how the hell to get the gas from the can into the tank instead of just giving my car a good coat of the stuff. He figures it out and ten minutes of pouring later, my car has enough fuel to get me to the station. His name is Dave, and he rocks. As does my brother for answering the call.

I finally get home… much later than I originally intended to. And from now on, when my car tells me I’m running low on fuel, I’ll be sure to take notice sooner, rather than later.

Cause, you know. I’m smart like that.