I had just left Jen’s office and was on my way to wash our fuel efficient Prius (yes, in these days of four plus dollars a gallon for fuel, we are happy to say that we are averaging just over 50 mpg).
I was south-bound on Cuyamaca, when I noticed (I use that word in the most understated sense) a large Chevy Silverado stalled in the left lane. Now this ain’t your off-the-lot, normal pick-up truck. This was your double cab, long bed, 12” lift kit, 38” tires, gas-guzzling, he-man-woman-haters-club kind of truck. Of course, it was, at this point in time, being pushed, or at least attempting to be pushed, by a five foot, three inch women wearing a black pant suit and stiletto high heels.
I courteously make a u-turn and pull back around to help this poor lady out. I bravely dash across several lanes of speeding traffic and tell her to get in and steer while I push. I briefly entertained the idea of having me steer and her push, but the Catalde moment quickly passed…thank you Tonita.
We finally manage to get “the beast” to the curb, only after three angry honks and one person showing us their tall finger.
I ask the lady if she knew why the truck died and if she needed any help. She proceeds to tell me that, and I swear this is the honest truth, that she and her husband had just bought a new Toyota Camry from the local dealer and she was on her way to meet her husband there. As part of an incentive to get them to buy the new car, the salesman enticed them with two free tanks of gas for their cars. Well, who wouldn’t drive their 3 mpg truck with a 39 gallon tank to the very bottom of its tank in hopes of eeking out every last ounce of free gas? (and yes, I borrowed her owner’s manual to look confirm the tank size).
So, I drove her down the street to the gas station where she purchased a seven dollar gas can and four dollars and thirty-five cents worth of gas. Yes, a single gallon.
I told her that if she ran out of gas again on her way to the dealership, she was on her own.