It almost happened again.
A few weeks ago I shared with you, my faithful readers, about my “curse.”
That “curse” of course being that all 10 cars that I have ever owned have had their windshield cracked, chipped or busted, but there is another curse I have failed to disclose.
I tend to run out of gas while driving.
Oh, it’s happened three times before in my life, and it happened again yesterday.
The first time my car sputtered to a stop was when I was 16 years old, and running late to get home by curfew. I knew the needle was below the E symbol, but I thought I could make it because
I had only a few miles to go.
I was wrong. My car stalled on the side of the road, with the clock ticking toward midnight, and these were the days well before cell phones.
So, I walked. And walked. And walked.
An hour later, I came through the door to find my parents in the living room.
That was the first walk of shame.
The second and third came during college, but were for different reasons — lack of funding.
Think back to your college years, and I am sure you will remember digging for any loose change
in the couch cushions just to find enough money for the week.
Like you, I was a broke college student at Missouri Southern, and working part-time at the Baxter Springs (Kan.) Citizen newspaper, writing sports and inserting the coupons into the newspaper two nights a week.
That was my humble beginning in the world of newspapers. One night, around midnight, I was headed home to Joplin at the time after a night of inserting when the gas light lit up.
I was in the middle of nowhere near the Missouri-Kansas state line.
A mile or two later, the Chevy Cavalier sputtered to a stop.
In the middle of the night, I took the first steps of the walk of shame. Nearly two hours later, I walked back to my car stranded on I-44 with a can of gas and got home just in time to get a few hours of sleep before class.
Let’s fast-forward 15-plus years to yesterday, and folks, this time I don’t have an excuse like being a silly teen-ager, or a poor college student.
I was just plain dumb. All day, on my travels to lunch and to the bank, I kept reminding myself to stop and get gas. My gauge flashed “0 miles” on how much fuel was left in the tank since my return home last night.
