Tuesday, April 17, 2001 | 9:17 a.m.
I AM ABOUT to embarrass myself. But it will be for good reason and it won't be the first time.
I ran out of gas on the freeway. There, I said it. I'll bet I have lectured my wife and daughter a hundred times over the past few years about how ridiculous it is to run out of gas. Add to that the hundreds of times my parents lectured me on the subject and there is no way I could feign ignorance about the level of responsibility required to operate a motor vehicle. But there I was, stuck on the off-ramp of I-15 unable to move in any direction because the fuel that runs the combustion engine in my car was all gone. And there wasn't a drop in sight.
Boy, did I feel like a fool. I even swore my friend, Xavier, to secrecy when I called him for some help because I knew it would only be a matter of time before the whole world knew that I did one more dumb thing in my life. Fortunately, Xavier could be trusted. But he wasn't a mind reader. So when I told him where I was, there was no way I could have expected him to understand that I was on the exact opposite side of the world. In rush hour, no less!
While I sat in the car on the side of the road I read through In Business, Vegas Golfer, Showbiz Magazine and practically every other publication we have just to pass the time and keep my mind off of the ridiculousness of my situation. Who runs out of gas in 2001? Besides me, that is. The other reason I was so intent on catching up with my reading was that it kept me distracted from the dozens of drivers who drove by just slow enough to catch a glimpse of the idiot who was so obviously running on empty. I figured if I couldn't see them there is no way they could know that it was me sitting behind the wheel, so I just kept reading.
I also thought a great deal about how I got myself in that predicament. I have plenty of friends who are anal enough to never run out of gas. Heck, they don't even let the gauge get below half full. There is no way they could ever understand how such a thing could happen. Nor would they have the least bit of sympathy for someone in my situation. Then there are the folks who think that I made an adult decision to let the car run on fumes alone and that they would have no reason or inclination to offer help of any kind. What kind of adult, one might ask, makes a decision like that on purpose? Those are the same folks, by the way, who voted for the candidate who wanted to dismantle government at all levels, believing that we all must stand on our own two feet at all times.
Well, I am here to tell you that I didn't decide to run out of gas, nor was I playing any kind of game with the gas meter trying to see how long I could drive without filling up the tank. The truth is -- and this is the most embarrassing part -- I just forgot to look at the gauge until it was too late and the car was already sputtering. At my age I am getting used to things happening just because I forgot. My friends tell me that it only gets worse.
So why am I telling you all of this and exposing myself to public humiliation?
In part, it is to share this lesson with our readers who may think that it can't happen to them. And it may be to encourage everyone out there to fill the tank up whenever possible to avoid running short or, worse, not running at all. Heaven knows I was lucky coming up empty so close to civilization in the middle of the day. What if it happened on a dark night in the middle of nowhere?
But the real reason I am exposing my shortcomings is because of Tony and the state of Nevada.
You see, while I was waiting for Xavier to fight cross-town, rush-hour traffic trying to reach me who knows when with a starter kit of gasoline, I saw a Department of Transportation "Freeway Service Patrol" van drive by, stop and back up to where my car and I were stranded, being ogled by too many smirking drivers who knew such a thing could never happen to them.
When Tony Pisano got out of the van with a smile and a "Can I help you" on his lips, I knew that help had come and that I would soon be on my way. "Out of gas?" he asked. "No problem, I've got plenty right here."
With that he took out a container -- the kind I'd wished I'd have carried in my trunk just for such emergencies -- and began to empty it into my fuel-starved tank. Within seconds I was back in business with the engine purring contentedly. That's when I reached into my pocket -- it is Las Vegas, you know -- to show my appreciation to my new friend, Tony.
"Keep your money," he said, "this is on the state of Nevada. We are happy to have been of assistance." I couldn't even pay him for the gasoline.
There was one favor, though, he asked. He gave me a card, self-addressed and stamped, and asked me to fill it out. On it was the following: "We are glad to help! You can help us keep the service program going by letting us know how you liked the program. Thanks -- Nevada Department of Transportation."
Well, as one driver who for whatever reason -- stupidity, daring, forgetfulness or just victimized by the stuff in life that just happens -- ran out of gas and needed a helping hand, I say thank you, and please keep the program going. I had my friend on his way, but how many people might not have had a cell phone to call for help or a friend to even answer the call?
I am also well aware of a movement in this country to cut government programs that offer assistance to citizens at all levels, using the excuse that people need to help themselves more and expect less from their government. That may sound good, but the fact is that stuff just happens and good and mostly responsible people get caught behind the 8 ball or on an off-ramp going nowhere. And that is a good enough reason to have a tax-paid program to save the day and, perhaps, far more. I, for one, will vote to raise my taxes rather than cut a program that helps people in all manner of distress because when all was said and done, I needed to see Tony far more than I needed to see a few extra dollars.
That may be hard to understand if it has never happened to you, but my experience tells me it will happen. It is just a matter of time. And like Allen Funt used to say, it will happen when you least expect it.
When it happened to me, the last thing I expected to see was the Freeway Service Patrol and Tony Pisano. But I am glad he came along. Thanks, Tony.
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