I ran out of gas while riding my scooter last night. I was on my way to a meeting. For a long time I thought the darn thing just kept stalling out, so I’d get off, kick start it again, and go. Finally, after doing this about 5 times, it wouldn’t start up again, so I checked, and noooo gaaaas. Now I remember switching over to my reserve tank a few days ago, but I forgot all about it.
I ran out of gas about midway between two gas stations…I’d say each station was a mile or more from me. I thought about calling Deb to bring me a container of our gas, but I decided that was ridiculous and that I needed to think self sufficiently; I didn’t want to walk the mile to the station, and then carry that gas a mile back. And then it occurred to me: Hey, I’m not stuck in some isolated, rural place—there are houses around here. And people. And lawns. And lawnmowers. And gas in red containers in garages.
So, I chose my favorite house and rang the doorbell. I never heard it ring. Actually, the little note on the door said “Ring the bell, then come in.” Odd note, I thought, so I didn’t go in. If no one had answered, I would have gone in, though (I did turn the doorknob to check. It opened). And the nicest, cutest guy answered. I liked him right away. We hit it off. Tony with the little black socks. He’s probably in his late 30s early 40s. I told Tony my scooter ran out of gas right in front of his house. He said, “Bummer.” I said, “Yes.” He hauled his red container to my scooter and gave me enough gas to get to the next station.
At first he wouldn’t accept any money, but I told him that if he didn’t take payment, then I wouldn’t feel free to knock on his door the next time I ran out of gas in front of his house. He took $2. I like it that he took $2.
One day, I might just knock on his door to say “hi.” He has a cool house. I wish I’d taken a picture of Tony in his black socks.
Not Alice 