Pimpin cool

It is soooo harrrd to look cool, standing beside your car in rush-hour traffic. Leaning against the rear fender, left hand in your pocket, maintaining that casual smile as you look at the traffic pass you by, while your right hand supports the gas can that is draining into your fuel tank.

Nonetheless, I pulled it off – to whatever extent it is actually possible – just yesterday afternoon. It is a skill I had to learn, and have had many opportunities to develop over the last couple of years. My car has a damaged fuel gauge. It accurately reports the top 2/3rds of my tank. And the needle stops at the 1/3rd tank mark. From there, its anybody’s guess how much fuel I have left.

I usually use the trip odometer, and reset it with each fill up. I know what the minimum, and probable maximum, range of my full tank is. When I get close to the minimum, I start looking for a gas station. The further past that point it gets, the more anxious I get, and the more frequently I end up standing in traffic hiding a gas can beside me.

However, all of this new skill can only be applied when I fill the tank. When I only put in $5, then I am playing a kind of casino game. This is the $5 I put in before giving my ride-hitching friend a lift into College Town. And before I drove to-and-from work twice. And to the bank.

Actually, the real problem was the fact that the gas station I wanted to use was on the far end of town. Their pumps had just been recalibrated and certified, and I got the cheepest fill-up there of anywhere. But, I needed a few other reasons to justify a trip across town besides just getting a fill-up. Plus, at this point, getting there would also require my getting some gas first.

Thus, me standing in the heart of downtown City, pretending to be too cool to be driving. I’d rather be walking instead.

For you math whizzes, yes, my car gets an amazing MPG. And, its an ’82 Merc – best of the big-boats. Reasons that I attribute to my high MPG are running it without oil or coolant for extended periods, and having no exhaust system. It may also be that its quirky timing problem actually helps rarify my fuel needs.

For those of you bumming about my walking to get gas, I carry a 1 gallon in my trunk, which I refill as needed at each fill-up.