Driving to Vegas a few weeks ago, my friends and I unintentionally discovered once the empty gas light loomed, my Jetta could continue for seventy miles on continually flat road. Evidently gas stations feel it sufficient to supply gas incredibly infrequently while driving to Vegas.
This influencing my usual logic, when the gaslight materialized in driving from Long Beach to Los Angeles, I reasoned I could get to USC and back without any difficulties. My belated arrival in visiting my brother solidified my resolution of gas-delay.
One-thirty in the morning located my brother informing me I was welcome to sleep at his house of eight males, but there were no blankets, no heat, and no insulation. I ruled to return to Long Beach that night.
It wasn’t until I was lost in a shifty section of L.A. (a wrong turn from USC) that I recalled the gas deficiency. As the area was wrought with hoodlums, hooligans, and hobos, doubtless all equipped with semi-automatic weaponry and foot-long knives, I opted to remain in the car in attempts to recover the correct direction. Fifteen still-astray minutes later, the Jetta dashed down a boundless bridge, rapidly jolted forward, and stopped. Complete. Absolute halt.
I plundered my purse, pinpointed my AAA card, and phoned. The clock now read two-fifteen. The operator informed me of the hour and a half wait. After describing myself as a solitary young female in dire L.A., Operator consigned me as an Emergency pick-up. This kindly cut the wait to forty-five minutes. Her inspiring closing words: “When your life is threatened, call 9-1-1 immediately.” Wonderful. Forty-five minutes.
Twenty minutes elapsed with no hoodlums, hooligans, or hobos accosting the bridge. However, 2:35am: a cop car came. He pulled behind and notified me I was parked illegally and he was going to bestow me with a ticket. I notified him the car died, I was waiting for AAA, and, believe me, would move if feasible. I cast the car in neutral and he, alone, pushed the car three blocks off the bridge and around the corner so I wouldn’t obstruct the street. He didn’t issue me a ticket.
2:58am: AAA called. I wasn’t in the location I had said. They had sent the would-be savior to another location. Forty-five minute wait from now. My solitary young female status acquired a twenty-five minute wait.
3:23am: AAA arrived.
3:38am: Full tank of gas and I, with directions, drove towards the freeway.
4:06am: Long Beach.
In retrospect, I’m abundantly appreciative the cop didn’t run my plates. He would have seen my warrant for arrest (though I didn’t know about it at the time) and presumably promptly escorted me to jail.
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