Running On Empty

I was supposed to go see the new Woody Allen film Melinda and Melinda this evening at the Arclight. So I'm on my way there, driving up La Brea towards Wilshire, when suddenly the orange "fuel" light on my dashboard flickers to life. Now, I've had this car for a while, so I'm pretty confident in my gasoline level despite this sudden visual warning. Usually, I can get about 30 miles further down the road with my orange fuel light on.

In fact, that little orange alert works so well, I can honestly say I've never once run out of gas before in my life. And that's apparently impressive, judging from some of the conversations I've had this evening. I spoke to not one but two friends who assured me that they run out of gas all the time, that they are even infamous in some circles for doing so.

One friend told me the following story: She ran out of gas and walked to a nearby gas station, where they made her pay $17 for a gas can in addition to the money for the gas itself. Afterwards, in disgust, she throws away the $17 can. Then, later on that same day, she ran out of gas again, and had to buy another $17 can at another gas station.

How could this be possible? How could you run out of gas twice in one day? Only if you failed to put more than a half-day's gas in the tank during your initial fill-up, which seems so illogical, it could not possibly be true.

But you don't know the person who passed along this story. Trust me, it's probably accurate.

Anyway, when we last left my original story, I was lurching ahead limply on La Brea Avenue, about to make a right-hand turn but utterly unable to because my car apparently has no gas left. But the light! It never came on! That Orange Bastard!

Worse yet, La Brea Avenue at this particular intersection isn't exactly a flat street. There's a considerable incline, and my car, depleted of vital resources, began to lurch back down the hill and into traffic.

What was I to do? I leapt out of the car and put the entire force of my body behind the back bumper of the car. Unfortunately, I completely lack even a hint of upper body strength, or any strength at all, really. Probably because I don't ever exercize. Or lift heavy stuff. Or move without being chased by something carniverous. Anything larger or more cumbersome than a 12-pack of soda and I'm hiring movers.

So I'm not really the guy you'd call on to keep a Nissan Altima from bearing down La Brea Avenue at top speed. Yet there I found myself, in the road, late for a movie, pushing my car to the safe haven of Edgewood St. Finally, relying on some heretofore undiscovered and deeply-buried reservoir of fortitude, I got the car to a spot on the side of the road where it could rest comfortably, and where I could collapse on the sidewalk, hyperventilating and exhausted.

When I came to, I called AAA and was informed they'd take 30 to 45 minutes to arrive at the scene, which isn't really the news you're looking for when you're late, stalled out in West Hollywood and quite possibly on the verge of a massive coronary.

Fortunately, they got there a bit sooner than expected, and the driver was kind enough to supply me with $5 worth of gas for the low low price of $5. Now I don't know if you've seen the oil prices recently, but $5 essentially buys you a Dixie Cup full of gasoline. And not even a normal Dixie Cup, but the kind with the little paper handles you use at the dentist's office to rinse.

And for some reason, this neighborhood of Los Angeles has no gas stations. This is a massive city and everyone drives...wouldn't you think it prudent for Chevron and Mobil to set up more gas stations in populated areas? Hollywood has approximately one gas station for every 500,000 cars. Every time you want to fuel up anywhere near Sunset Blvd., it's like the Carter Administration all over again. There are shorter lines to see Episode III than to get gas in my old neighborhood.

So, thanks be to Jah, my $5 worth of gas didn't run out before I could make it to a gas station, and I was able to make it home safely. But my movie plans were ruined. Ruined! Nothing makes me more upset than failing to see a movie I have been wanting to see.

And, yeah, I know this is technically my fault for allowing my car to run so low on gas, but I don't exactly have a lot of money and a gallon of gas costs about as much as I make in a week. I work at an independently-owned video store here, people. It's like one step above an Industrial Revolution-era rendering plant in terms of salary level. And, oddly enough, stench, but that's another article.