Gas Gauge Roulette

I have hardly lived my life as a daredevil. 

My name will never rank in the annals of "living on the edge"  alongside Knievel, Wallenda, or Maury Plotkin, which is a name I just made up to satisfy the comedy rule of "three's."

There is one area of life's experience in which I have given vent to my wild side, if whatever side of mine that occasionally gets up and off its side is my wild side.

Perhaps you've played Gas Gauge Roulette yourself.

I clamber into my car in the morning, cursing that it's morning and that my car is a 2007 Camry instead of a 2017 Lexus and that it's morning.  As I settle uneasily behind the wheel, I recall two facts I had somehow forgotten:

• I am practically out of gas, the warning light having flashed for  5 or 6 miles before I got home last night, and
• I am a lazy and shiftless jerk who doesn't feel like pumping gas and (optional) it's really cold outside.

 Game On!

Will I desperately strive to make it safely to work without stopping to fill up for gas?  Or will I act prudently, fill up the tank, and drive to work confident and secure that I will arrive in style and in one piece?

The former, of course.  After all, this is Gas Gauge Roulette!

I’ve now gone a mile. The warning light is back on, and likely there’s less gas in the tank than water on the surface of the moon.  I pass the first of several gas stations en route.   

Do I stop?

Nah. I am Wallenda, I am Knievel, I am Maury Plotkin were he to exist. 

Was that a sputter? Did the car make a choking sound? Hopefully that was me sputtering and choking instead of the car. 

The light on the dashboard is now glowing like the Bat Signal on a night the Joker is carting off Gotham City. 

I ignore it.

The gas gauge itself is now actually speaking to me:

"Perry, you moron, you're riding on fumes!  For god's sake, stop and get gas!" 

Nope.

There is one last gas station ahead before work. One last possible reprieve from the ignominy and humiliation of running out of gas less than half a mile from the job.

I motor on past.

The car is now shrieking at me in the same tonality and cadence as if it were Meryl Streep in the movie Florence Foster Jenkins. 

There's the parking lot up ahead at last, and yes, I've won!

America’s stupidest and most pointless game.

Why do I play Gas Gauge Roulette? 

For me the game represents the ultimate point at which lazy crosses indomitable.  Sometimes the only difference between being a hero and not being one is how much you are willing to risk to preserve your lassitude.

It's the end of the day and I return to my vehicle. As I clamber into the car and settle uneasily behind the wheel, I recall two specific facts I had somehow forgotten:

• I am practically out of gas, the warning light having flashed frantically for a good 5 or 6 miles before I got to work this morning, and
• I am a lazy and shiftless jerk who doesn't feel like pumping gas and (optional) it's really cold outside. 

Game On!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Night Drive (FF)

copyright The Reclining Gentleman

"Phillip, we've been riding behind this guy for a good five minutes," said Buckley, as he and Phillip drove over the Minsky River.  "Why don't you pass him?"

"I've put my high beams on to signal him to pull over so I can pass," said Phillip, "but he doesn't seem to be getting the message!"

"Phillip" replied Buckley, "that's not the way to do it. Pull around him."

"Really?  Just go around him?"

"Sure.  There are no cars in the lane next to you."

"Just go around him?"

"Naturally."

"In the lane next to him?"

"Of course."

"Okay, whatever you say."

"OMG!  No, No, Phillip! NOOOO!  AHHHHHHHH!"

Phillip and Buckley had to be fished out of the Minsky River.  Phillip had gone in the lane to the left, not the right, to get around the car in front of him.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though I'm not quite as bad a driver as Phillip, I have been told I have a heavy foot. How do you go about losing weight in your foot? Is there a Jenny Craig for feet?

Anyway you should foot it on over to the responses of the other Friday Fictioneers to the picture prompt above by clicking the word lead foot right here. You don't have to drive, although Phillip is waiting to take you.

I have not have the opportunity to comment on many of your stories lately and I apologize. If I haven't commented on your story, that means I loved it! Now will you take a spin with me, lead foot and all? 

Highway to Heck! (FF)

© Jean L. Hays

"And so the Road Warrior drove the tanker out of the compound at breakneck speed, chased furiously by the vicious marauders that had held the people in the compound captive."

"Wow!  And this enabled the people in the compound to escape with the necessary oil to rebuild civilization?”

"Right! And the Road Warrior was able to deftly maneuver many of the marauders' vehicles into fiery collisions so that the landscape was ultimately strewn with their devastated wreckage!"

"I see. And these are some of those destroyed vehicles!"

"Of course not. I'm just telling you about a movie. It didn't happen.”

"So what are these cars?"

"Oh, parallel parking practice for Perry Block.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a little basic self-deprecation for this week's Friday Fictioneers and I'm off. 

It's true I'm lousy at parallel parking. Once I parked so far from the curb I needed a GPS to get to the meter.  You'll need no GPS to get to the stories by the other Friday Fictioneers, however, as you can read their takes on the above picture prompt simply by clicking here.

Okay, I'm off on my Highway to Heck.  Have a good holiday!

Like a Good Neighbor, State Farm is .... WHERE?

I found myself needing automobile insurance recently and wanted to pick the best company to purchase it from. First I thought of Flo from Progressive, but after suffering third degree makeup burns obtaining a quote,  I decided to look further.

The television commercial of one major insurance company intrigued me.  If you have a claim of any kind whatsoever, all you need do is sing the company's commercial jingle and an agent materializes by your side. Despite the fact that I'm tone deaf, that's the kind of service I can wrap my somewhat accident-prone teeth around!

So, I went out and purchased me some State Farm Automobile Insurance.  Darned if within the next week someone didn't go right through a red light and into my car!  Bashed in the whole right side leaving it undriveable and me with bumps, bruises, and maybe a broken arm.

"Thankfully,  I don't need to worry a thing!"  I thought confidently.  All I have to do is lift my voice in song.

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there," I sang out.

Instantly a man in a business suit appeared. 

"Wonderful!"  I exclaimed.  "You must be my State Farm Agent!"

"Agent?" he replied. "No, I'm plainclothes police officer Steve Tompkins, and your reckless driving almost killed this poor woman!  It will take hours to write up all the citations and violations you've committed!"

"But what about my arm?"

"I'd be a lot more worried about my ass if I were you, slimeball!" 

Hauled down to police headquarters, I knew I needed help.

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!" I sang again.

A woman in a smartly tailored suit was next to me like magic.

"At last," I sighed. "My State Farm Agent!"

"Agent?  No, I'm plaintiff's attorney Jane Slytherin, and I'm suing you on behalf of my client Agnes Somerville for $8 million dollars!  Here's the paperwork; see you in court slimeball!"

Now I kept singing desperately!

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!!" 

"You my agent?"

"No, I'm Judge Howard Appelbaum of Superior Court.  I find for the plaintiff and against you in the amount of $15,000,000!  Pay up, slimeball!"

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!!!" 

"My... my ... Agent?"

"No, Sheriff John Lawful. We're repossessing your home, all personal property,  your dental bridgework, and just about everything you've ever touched! Well, almost everything."

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there ... !" 

"Agent?  Agent?" 

"No, horse doctor Miles Gallop."

"Could you look at my withered arm please?"

"Yep, looks broken. See ya."

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there ...."  with the last ounce of my strength.

"Agent ... agent ... you two guys my agent?"

"No, we've come from the state to take you away.  Now go easy, old fella..."

"Why does he keep singing that stupid song?" I heard one say to another. 

"Poor guy, he's way off key," said the other. "Incredible thing, if you sing the jingle in the key of G Sharp, a State Farm Agent appears IMMEDIATELY!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Off-Brand GPS

The Voice behind my GPS --- NOT!

I'd never purchased a GPS in all these years since they've had them, dual reasons being I don't generally go anywhere I might get lost and I'm penurious, a euphemism for expressing the fact that I'll bend over to pick up nickels off the sidewalk, if not pennies themselves.

However, of late I'd begun to perceive the value of regularly hearing a pleasant female voice speaking directly to me, a rare enough occurrence in my life.  I found myself frequently using the self check out lines at the supermarket just so I could hear a sultry young woman tell me to "press enter" and then thank me for bagging!

I could just imagine hearing that warm soothing voice talking to me day in and day out, guiding me through life, speaking to me and me alone: 

Perry, that was a masterful and assured parallel parking job!  

Perry, look how long and straight you drove down that hard road, just like I asked you to!

Perry, you are my auto-erotic hero!

So I went out the other day and bought me a GPS.  There's only one problem;  my frugality won out, and I bought myself an Off-Brand GPS. 

"Now, Little GPS," I said as the two of us left the store, "kindly direct me to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"North Cavendish Street?" replied the Little GPS. "That's not such a nice neighborhood, I don't think we should go there."

"Where's your sultry pleasant voice, Little GPS?" I asked. "You sound like actress Fran Drescher from The Nanny!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

"Alright, but please give me the directions to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"Drive straight for three blocks, then make a left on Buchanan Street. Take that down to Malloy Street and make a right."

"Thank you, Little GPS. Now we're getting somewhere." 

"Then proceed about 100 yards and stop to ask directions from the old guy in the stained blue windbreaker."

"What?! Ask directions? That's what you're for!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

And so it was for the next several days. The Little GPS was generally disagreeable and almost always unhelpful. Finally it reached a breaking point.

"Little GPS, you've gotten us good and lost!"

"We're not lost at all!  Say,  got a quarter?  Call it in the air:  heads we go left, tails we go right."

"Call it in the air, heads we go .... this is ridiculous!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get ...."

"Don't say that anymore!"

"Well, I say YOU got US lost.  You're the one with the reputation for screwing up!" 

That was it!  Bargain or no bargain, the Little GPS was getting returned!  Fortunately on my way back to the store I found a half dozen pennies on the sidewalk.  Well, this time around I bought myself a Premium GPS featuring the voice of Scarlett Johansson.  I don't even care if it gives decent directions.  

Frankly I don't take it out of the house ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Ref

The subject referee uniform shown above,

not the subject referee

My 17 year old son Brandon is a referee in the local township soccer league.  He regularly holds sway over games for children anywhere from ages 6 to 16. He wears a cool uniform.  And has a whistle.

Brandon came to this part-time job by way of being a super soccer player ever since the first time he kicked a soccer ball and sent it spiraling into my groin.  On his best playing days he can sweep down the field eluding opposing players just like Wayne Gretzky, only without the skates and ice.  I don't know the names of enough soccer players to make a better analogy.

Clearly Brandon did not get his athletic prowess from me. You've heard about people who can't walk and chew gum? 

I can't chew gum.

But it does give me a great deal of satisfaction to have someone in the family who wields such a level of authority in the sports arena.  And it sort of conveys upon me a measure of clout that makes me one major dude to be reckoned with!

"License and registration please!"

"Is there a problem, Officer?"

"Yeah, there' s a problem.  It's a Violation 378-A1 --- Going 65 miles per hour in a 15 mile an hour zone,  weaving between cars like you're some Indianapolis 500 hotshot on Memorial Day, and blasting "Born to be Wild" out your car window so loud the actual John Kay of Steppenwolf can hear it,  and he might even be dead."

"So?"

"So?!!  What are you?  Intoxicated?"

"Oh, no, Officer, I'm just a very poor driver.  I don't even know why the state licenses me."

"Out of the car please!"

"Officer, I don't think you understand."

"Understand what?"

"My son is Brandon Block, the soccer referee." 

"S-o-o-o?!!"

"Officer O' Reilly, is it?  On any given Saturday,  my son has total authority over 20-25 individuals in this very township.  Make that 22-27 counting the coaches, even more if there are assistant coaches and some random moms and dads!"

"Get out of the car right now!"

"Officer, you're making a big mistake!"

"GET OUT OF THE CAR RIGHT NOW!!!"

"Just wait until Brandon hears about this!" 

A bit later, after booking and processing, I was granted my one phone call.

 I called Brandon. 

"What ever were you thinking, Dad?  I'm just a soccer referee for kids." 

"But you do wear a cool uniform.  And you do have a whistle!"

"Dad, I'm just a soccer referee for kids."

There's nothing worse than a fallen idol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The subject whistle

Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel

                                             

No more for me.  I'm Captain Cautious!

I recently had a minor automobile accident while driving not so far from my home. It was "minor" in that I'm still breathing.  It was "accident" in that my car is not.

Something happens to you after an automobile accident,  aside from the urge to fake whiplash and find a lawyer with the cheapest looking ad in the Yellow Pages. You begin to think you ought to be more careful, take driving more seriously, actually pay attention to the speed limits while you're blithely exceeding them.  

My car had paid the ultimate price.   It was a tearful moment when I emptied out the glove compartment, trunk, and beer cans and unused condoms from the back seat.   "Goodbye, Old Paint!"  I called out.  Which in this case was literally true since the exterior of my 2001 vehicle looked like it had been originally painted by whoever Tom Sawyer had been able to con into doing the job in the 1870's.

Taking to the road  in my rental car on the way home, I noted that the posted speed limit was 25 mph,  so I slowed to that speed.  Before long came the realization that traveling at this sane, reasonable, and legal rate of speed  feels like going backwards!  Instead of moving toward my destination,  I was in fact losing ground. Given enough time, I'd find myself in the Atlantic Ocean.  

Who sets these speed limits, the guy who actually drives your father's Oldsmobile?

But nonetheless, at that very moment I made a commitment.   I would become Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel!

I would never again speed to get through a yellow light unless I was being chased by Nazis.   I would become so attuned to the fact that objects in my right hand side mirror are closer than they appear that I would actually write that very phrase upon the mirror! I would brake for animals and sometimes even for people too.

I would become one with the road. Why not?  I'm not dating anyone else! 

Now when I approach a stop sign,  I slow to a stop ten feet behind the sign. Then I inch forward and stop dead directly in line with the sign.

~I look right.  I look left.  I look up.  I look down.

~I look 360 degrees all about me.  This is a feat that has not been otherwise successfully achieved since actress Linda Blair in The Exorcist in 1973.  

~I listen for traffic reports on the twos at KYW Newsradio 1060 in Philadelphia to learn of any nearby advancing motor vehicles,  nearby being defined as anywhere in the tri-state area.   

~I grow old.  I die, Horatio.

Other drivers are beginning to recognize and salute the commitment of Captain Cautious.  Whenever I am driving down a two lane road scrupulously observing the speed limit, a long line of cars forms behind me in tribute. Some drivers even sound their horns in my honor. When the lanes of travel widen, many that pass me give me the thumbs up sign as they drive by!

At least I believe it is the thumbs up sign. 

I'd love for you to come driving with me some day if you have nothing to do and a whole lot of patience.  For you see ...

I am now Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel, role model for one and all!

I am also one big pain in the ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~