"Marsha Jacobson does parents a great favor."
A small act of kindness
January 13th, 2011 ¦ Marsha Jacobson -
Yikes! Has it been this long since I blogged?! With four children, my husband (sometimes as demanding!), a dog and a guinea pig, I find I am constantly putting off my stuff. I was determined to blog, meditate and work on my book today but once again I had to reorganize my plans to make room for Dustin’s essay which needs to be edited before tomorrow! So I chose blogging and sigh a little as the other two are put off until tomorrow (hopefully). Enough whining! I have and hour and fifteen minutes to finish this and the essay before I leave to pick up my nephews for our weekly play date. I’m taking my baby nephew for the first time today so I’m pretty excited.
About a month ago I was going to full up with gas knowing full well that I had let the gauge dip dangerously low. “So what’s new?” said my son. Anyway, with the gas station in clear view my car putted to an embarrassing halt, not giving two hoots that we were almost there. I rocked back and forth, begging, “Come on, a hundred meters. That’s all I’m asking of you!” It wasn’t going to happen. Of course this had to happen during peak traffic so within a minute I had a line of cars behind me even though I had put my hazard lights on. I heard a couple of honks and felt my menopausal hot flush kick in.
It was at this moment that a truck with gardening equipment pulled up alongside me and the driver gestured, “what’s up?”
I responded, also with gestures and a tad aggressively (and to my shame now), “I’m stuck! What do you expect me to do about it!” With that, the guy pulled up in front of me, stopped his truck and got out. As he was walking towards me, my initial reaction turned to major embarrassment as he asked me what was wrong. “I’ve run out of gas.” I replied, wanting to climb under my chair. Without a word, he went to his vehicle, grabbed a container full of gas, walked to my car and asked me if I wouldn’t mind popping the lid to the gas. I did, (not minding at all) and he emptied his can into my car. By this time I had managed to form the words to thank him profusely and of course offer to pay for the gas. “Don’t worry, my pleasure.” he replied, and simply walked off. He had no sign on his truck so I had no way of even knowing who he was.
I’ve run out of gas before (maybe more than once) and it is a royal inconvenience. This entire “pit stop” took no more than 5 minutes.