Gas: Not Just For Passing!

I have never seen the gas light come on in my current car. I think I’ve tried pretty hard to get it, so I always chicken out thinking it’s broke and I’ll run out of gas before it tells me I’m low. One of the reasons I don’t think it works – the gauge hits empty and I drive for another 45 miles and nothing. I should really look up how big the tank is and go off of that, because something is very wrong with the whole situation. Now in Rhiannon’s car, the gas light loves to be on. I think given the option, it would be on all the time, just to say hi. (It’s a friendly little light like that.) The first trip we ever took with her car, the gas light came on. We’re out on a highway, Rhiannon’s sleeping… I guess it thought I might have been lonely. The gauge said about an eighth left, what was the light doing coming on?

So we filled at the next town we came to. 45 miles down the road. Filled it all the way up, right to the brim. Looked at how much gas we put in, looked at the owner’s manual – there were almost two gallons left in the tank when we stopped.

Since then we’ve treated the gas light more like the boy who cried wolf than a true alarm system. “Oh, hi there little light, thanks for visiting. Sure, I’ll fill gas when I feel like it sometime next week. You can stay with me until then.”

The wolf came by this morning. He just wanted to let us know there were no more sheep in the tank.

Actually, there may have been sheep, but they were huddled at the back of the tank away from the gate when the car was going up the hill out of our apartments. And, honestly, if the wolf was going to visit – it was a pretty good morning for it. Rhiannon and I left at the same time, so I was only a block away. She stalled at the apartments, not 7 miles away on a three-lane highway (going uphill). There is a gas station a quarter mile away from where we live.

Did it take us a little time to get a can of gas filled and to her car?… Yes

Was it dangerous or harmful to traffic?… No (thanks to the nice maintenance man who helped us push the car farther off into a parking lot.)

Did the car start right away after putting more gas in it?… Yes.

Did my hands smell like gasoline afterwards?… Absolutely. (When I was little, I really liked the smell of gasoline.)

(I may have had problems as a child.)

So Rhiannon was on her way and I headed back to the apartment to wash my hands. Sink, water, soap – and the distinct aroma of gasoline just a hint of coconut. Perfect. What gets out the smell of gas? I don’t know. So I called Dad – because he grew up on a farm, and plus I was getting a little light headed from the fumes of my own hands and reverted back to the days of my youth when I thought Dad knew everything.

So I explained the situation and asked what removes gas from ones hands.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

“You mean besides something like vodka?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

We settled on a mix of WD-40 and GoJo (a soap meant for grease, now with Pumice!! What is pumice besides little pebbly things that get under your fingernails?) I don’t know if it really worked but I did learn a few things.

If my wedding ring ever gets stuck on my finger – I’m going right for WD-40 and water. My ring fell off while I was washing my hands.

If you have that much stuff on your hands, even if it smells vaguely of tainted oranges, keep your hands away from your face for the day. I haven’t been feeling so hot and I think it might have something to do with breathing the fumes from my hands. I’m going to refrain from lighting matches for the rest of the day.

But it’s Friday and Brett (the best man from my wedding) is cooking for us tonight.

Brett doesn’t cook.

If I don’t update ever again, you’ll know why.