When Patience is Not a Virtue
I’m generally not a very patient person but in some cases, I can be foolishly patient. For example, getting gas. Maybe it’s the fact that I used to pay for gas with whatever I had in my ashtray when I was a poor teenager and then college student, but I can’t bring myself to fill up on gas until I absolutely need to. Contrast this with my mom who gets uncomfortable when her gas tank gets below the halfway mark. In fact, I’ve often viewed the gas light as a challenge. Generally, the gas light coming on means you have about 20 miles until your tank is empty. ORLY?!?! In the past, I’ve proudly proclaimed that I once drove 40 miles after the check engine light came on, to which my friend(s) say, “you’re an idiot.” What I fail to mention is that one time my wife ran out of gas because of my “patience.”
One of the potential venues my fiancee and I looked into for our wedding was the Glenview Mansion in Rockville, MD. My fiancee was driving my old Corolla at the time, and when we were leaving, she said she should probably get gas. “Did the check engine light come on,” I asked her. “No,” she replied, “But it’s awfully low…” “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “I know that car and I can get gas for it later.” This statement turned out to be very, very true. So we made plans to meet back at her house and then head somewhere for dinner.
It was rush hour on Viers Mill Rd, and for those that are familiar with the Rockville area, rush hour gets pretty intense on Rockville Pike, Viers Mill Rd, and Norbeck Rd, etc…my fiancee was following me but we eventually got separated. As I was driving along, I get a phone call. “I’M OUT OF GAS!!!”
I generally try not to curse; this was not one of those situations. Well, I didn’t curse out loud because that wouldn’t have helped anything. But my brain was stringing profane words together together like some super hit combos in a fighting game.
Me: “WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Her (clearly upset): “At the intersection of Viers Mill and Norbeck Rd…”
Me: “I’LL BE RIGHT THERE!!!”
I get to the nearest gas station. There’s only one gas tank in the shop and there’s no price tag on it. “HOW MUCH IS THIS,” I ask. “$10,” the clerk replied. I’m sure seeing me in a state of panic added several dollars to the cost. I paid the cost and filled it up and rushed back to my fiancee.
There’s nowhere to park in that area and it would’ve taken forever to make my way around to get my car behind hers. As I pull up, I utter more profanities as I see the traffic jam being caused by her broken down car. I end up parking illegally at someone’s home and having to run across this big field, which is no longer there (they built up several homes). I think the field was maybe 100 ft long; it felt like a mile. Several irritated drivers looked over and saw me running with a gas can and shouted pleasantries at me. Many made note of my race and the fact that I like to do things to other men’s butts or mentioned the things they’d love to do to my butt, particularly inserting objects into it. How pleasant.
I finally get to the car and more pleasantries are being uttered by passersby. Turns out my fiancee ran out of gas a little further up the road but I nice gentleman pushed the car to this spot, which eased the backup slightly. The worst part of this whole thing? The gas can I just paid $10 for is broken. I’m getting more gas onto the side of the car and onto Viers Mill Rd than I am into the gas tank. My guess is that $10 gas can transferred 10% of the gas I bought into the car.
So as I walk back across the field to my car, I’m praying probably harder than I’ve ever prayed before that my fiancee would be able to make it home. (she did).
Fast forward to roughly 2 weeks ago. My wife and my mom mention that we are running low on diapers. “I’ll order them from Amazon soon,” I maintained. Ever since Amazon Mom started, whenever I’ve ordered diapers, they’ve arrived at our house no more than 3 days from the day I ordered them – sometimes, the next day. They remind me again that we’re low on diapers last week and I went ahead and ordered them. The next day, the diapers still haven’t shipped and now I’m starting to get nervous. Then my mom calls me and says, “Hey, I thought there were some extra diapers downstairs but we actually don’t have any left.”
I generally try not to curse; this was not one of those situations.
Mercifully, the diapers shipped via UPS later that afternoon, but they wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Thankfully, we had some emergency diapers we keep stored in our cars – we wised up after forgetting our diaper bag on several crucial occasions. “Maybe we should just go buy a pack of diapers,” my wife asked me. Again, I’m foolishly patient with some things, especially when buying a pack of diapers in the stores is crazy expensive.
The diapers are out for delivery this morning. So my mom is at home, left with one diaper. UPS is delivering a package, which I hope gets there before D2 delivers her daily brown package. Gives new meaning to the slogan, “What can brown do for you?”