Jake has this policy of refueling only when a vehicle is on empty.
Like, the meter dangles in the red and the remaining gas mileage count on the dashboard reads “0.” That’s right: “Zero.”
There have been a few occasions where we’ve literally rolled into a gas station on fumes because my husband – I do love him so — insists refueling any sooner than that “wastes time” and “compromises efficiency.” He says you end up making more aggregate stops in the long term if you refuel everytime the guage hits the halfway point. And that, he says, adds up to a lot of wasted time.
Question 1: Is he talking about over the course of a lifetime?
Question 2: Who gives a sh*&?
I think he picked up this habit during his deployment to Iraq where it actually made sense to stop and refuel only when absolutely necessary. Like, in a convoy of Humvees driving along a desert highway in enemy territory. Point taken. Extraneous stops means easy target for incoming WMD. Gotcha.
But in Virginia? Where Sheetz and Chevrons are as ubiquitous as cow turds?
Oh, we have battled royally over this issue. It literally makes me tear my hair out, flames shooting out of my head, as he blithely pulls into a Chevron station, the last droplet of gas expelled about, oh, two miles ago. And the worst part? He seems to take a puerile glee in pushing his wife’s comfort, safety and sunny personality to the absolute razor’s edge. When I wave my arms in wild protest, he’ll turn to me and say something completely outrageous like, “Yeah, but we didn’t run out of gas, did we? Oh lookee here, I’m coasting up to a pump right now! See, improved efficiency! Turn that frown upside down, hon!”
I mention this because….well, I’m not really sure why I’m mentioning it because the remainder of the story makes me look bad. But there is a moral of sorts at the end.
I had to go to the doctor today. As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed the reader said there was 25 miles worth of gas in the tank. Fine, I thought, I’ll fill up on my way out of town. (I should mention that the doctor’s office is an hour away.) After the appointment, I got in the car, drove to the stoplight and noticed the gas gauge had already dropped to 15 miles. Curious. I didn’t see a gas station. So I drove out of town toward the interstate and….still no gas station.
The reader dropped to 10 miles.
“Crap!” I said to Sunny, who rode shotgun.
We continued driving. I opted to stay on the highway because I wasn’t sure I’d run into a gas station within 10 miles of getting on the Interstate. And I REALLY didn’t want to run out of gas on the Interstate.
Then the reader dropped to 5 miles.
“Crap! Crap!” I yelled.
The highway turned out not to be a gateway toward shimmering suburban sprawl, which I’d hoped, but a rural country road dotted with nothing but horse farms and fancy houses. In other words, I wasn’t in Sheetz territory.
When the reader dropped to 0, I started to panic.
“Crap! I’m 8 months pregnant! I have a dog in the car! I’m on a highway to nowhere. CRAP!!!”
I called Jake, and tried to explain the situation. I thought for sure he’d gloat about the irony of ME running out of gas, so I was all ready to lay the ole, “But I’m 8 months pregnant!” excuse on him. But he didn’t go there. What a nice husband. He told me to turn around toward town and coast as much as possible until I found a gas station.
“And you know I’ve let that thing run down to below zero, and we’ve never run out of gas so you SHOULD be okay.”
Yeah, been there. Experienced that.
So I turned around and literally COASTED back toward town. The entire time I envisioned my very pregnant self hitchhiking with a dog in tow, asking motorists to spare a gas can.
On my way in, I noticed a highway sign advertising a gas station up ahead. As I got closer to the sign, I noticed it was the BP logo. Blurgh. What could I do? I had no choice.
I had to get my gas at BP, killer of clams, polluter of wetlands, destroyer of ecosystems.
See, there are other reasons besides “improved efficiency” for filling up at the halfway point.
All original content © 2012 by Jessie Knadler
{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
Not only does mine wait for a fill until the gauge is below the E (no fancy counter like yours,) but he REFUSES to fill it up past the half-way point, because [sigh] he doesn’t want to spend the money. This has caused a similar turn-around situation in the middle of Kansas, when someone failed to notice the sign reminding you that you will need 55 miles worth of fuel before you see another rest stop.
I’m glad you made it to the station.
Doesn’t Jake know that in the winter letting your gas go below 1/4 tank makes condensation build up in the tank? At least that’s what I’ve heard. Summer it doesn’t matter but winter you’re supposed to keep it over 1/4 or so. Good excuse anyway, but I guess that means standing outside in the cold to fill up your car a little more often (and by that I mean a few times).
Karen: More ammunition for my gas argument. Thanks for the (probably totally factual) tidbit.
I’m the one in our household who lets the gas tank get good and empty before filling up – usually not until the light goes on. My husband, on the other hand, never lets the tank get less than half full. You’d think it would be the other way around given that his commute is about four miles and mine is twenty.
I’m glad you made it to the gas station.
Our family has been avoiding BP like the plague too…but then this one time we needed gas and I said “Oh – here’s a BP, we’ll just grab some here” and my husband stopped and looked at me…and looked at me…and it took me a minute to realize “Oh yeah – I HATE BP!”DUH! Just had a brain fart moment. We did not stop at BP that day…but if we had it would have been out of my own stupidity
not because needing to keep myself safe. You still did the right thing.
BTW – 8 MONTHS! Congrats…not too much longer!
First, I hate perky, know-it-all husbands. I have one too. Example: last night, at 9:30, I was still trying to get housework done. I had just spent the last hour weeding the peas and beans out in the garden and i still had to get laundry going and make perky husbands lunch for tomorrow. I was stressed and annoyed and I still had not done my workout dvd, which I have been trying to do t get rid of the rest of the baby fat leftovers.
He comes into the kitchen after spending a hour doing yoga – YOGA. he asked what I was doing. I said, “I have a ton of things to do, it’s 9:30 and I still haven’t done my workout yet.”
He says, “Well, you have been running around cleaning up and weeding – it’s like you did exercise.”
True, but way too perky for my current mood.
I totally get what you are going through.
Secondly, good on you for only going to BP when it was life and death. Once the baby comes, I think your perky hubby will sing a different perky-tune if he is standed on the highway having to carry a baby carrier, a gas can and maybe a dog, to the nearest gas station.
Almost time for the baby!!!! If you are anything like me, you are totally ready to not be pregnant anymore. Good luck!
Please make sure you have a full tank when you are ready to deliver June! In fact, rule of thumb……from now until June arrives – you can’t go below 1/2 tank!
Rule of the 9th month: never let the tank get below 1/2 full! Jake, this means you, one dad to another!
Is it too late to call a midwife and plan a home birth?
FYI, most BP stations are owned an operated by individual franchisees who must buy their gas from, and get nickeled and dimed to death by, BP. NPR had a good piece on it. While it is true that you may be indirectly hurting BP by boycotting their stations, you are also directly hurting a small business owner who has nothing to do with the oil spill or BP’s environmental policies.
I sure sympathise with you. I’ve been in similar situations myself. And I feel really badly for the individuals guys who own the BP gas stations around here. I figure that they are probably like a lot of other people running small businesses, and they can’t do much about the bad possition they have found themselves in. Yet another group of people who are going to loose the businesses and probably their homes to boot.
um, 4 words (just for this instance): Ignore Jake. Spare tank.