I had an errand to run. I knew I was dangerously low on gas so the first place I head too is WaWa for a fill up. I hate getting gas. Loathe it. And thus avoid it until I risk running out on a lonely road somewhere. So this afternoon I wasn't TOO surprised when the van sputtered and died literally at the traffic light at Penn Ave at the end of my street. I was, however, MORTIFIED!
I quickly raced back home, got the gas can (full THANK GOD!!!), raced back to the van, emptied the gas can into it, tried to start it. Battery is dead. URG!! My battery needs replacing. That's HIS job. He has obviously failed at it. I'd do it but my "allowance" doesn't cover car repair and maintenance. (sarcasm intended)
Anywho... in the end I needed a police officer to push the van while I steered off to the side of the road. Another officer had to bring a portable car battery charger since I couldn't find my teenage son or any of his friends.
I spent what felt like an hour waiting in my too warm van that smelled of gas fumes from the gas tank on the floor behind me for the second officer to arrive. In reality it was likely ten minutes or less. But within those ten minutes I think I got a contact high from said gas fumes.
It was with great relief that I popped the hood when the second officer brought the charger around to the front of my car. Despite the fact that I'd done nothing wrong, the sheer authoritative role of a police officer left me feeling like I had. Two of them was even worse. Couple that with other drivers slowing to gawk and I couldn't wait to pull away.
They left the battery charge a few minutes and then sent me on my merry way. I drove home taking the first deep breaths I had since walking up to the officer.
I am not getting back into that car until he puts a new battery in it!!!!