The three times I have run out of gas in my life

1. 1985. Richfield, MN. I can't remember exactly why I was driving on the Lyndale Avenue service road that stretched out lonesomely in that area where the Crosstown highway and 35W clumsily intersected. I can't remember why i was driving my sister's VW Rabbit and not my own beloved 1977 AMC Hornet. But, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, perhaps unfamiliar with the Rabbit's gas gauge and the amount of time one could live on 'E', I ran out. I was a long way (on a cold day) away from the nearest gas station. A passerby offered me a ride. I accepted, not fearing that the man was a serial killer or religious zealot. He was just a nice guy. He waited for me as I filled up the gas can my sister had so responsibly kept in her car and then he drove me back. All in all, a life affirming experience.

2. 2002. La Verne. CA. On my way to the family compound one Sunday evening, I run out of gas on Golden Hills Road, my uphill climb on Wheeler likely having spent my fuel. I was in a rental car, on one of my pre-move job-hunting visits from Minnesota. Again, in an unfamiliar car, I was unaware of just how far I could last on E. Brother-in-law Paul rode down the hill and gave me enough gas to get back down the hill and fill up at the overpriced Shell station on Baseline.

3. This morning. L.A. I was in my own car so I had no real excuse for running out of gas. I thought I could make it all the way to the campus gas station, the one that overcharges by 15 cents a gallon but allows you to charge the gas to your staff ID card, thus making it seem like you're not paying for gas at all, even if it's coming out of your next paycheck. Anyway, I sputtered down Jefferson and was able to force a turn on Normandie, thinking (incorrectly) that there was a gas station nearby. A car wash? Yes. A burger joint? Yes. A dairy? Yes, even a an old-fashioned drive-up-and-get-your-Altadena-milk dairy in the heart of south L.A. But no gas station. So I parked myself on the corner of 37th and Normandie and waited for the Auto Club because it was far easier than walking a mile to the Arco on Vermont. As I managed to finish nearly half of the NY Times Sunday acrostic puzzle, the AAA guy arrived. I gave him 7 bucks (plus tip) for a single gallon of gas and I drove to work, arriving exactly one hour late.

The lesson? Just buy gas when you're almost empty. Buy more than you need. Fill it up. The prices aren't coming down any time soon.