#emptygastank

Most of the time, I am a responsible adult who takes care of her shit.

But every so often, I have an "Oh, Andrea!" moment.

I shall now tell you a tale of one of my more horrific Oh Andrea moments. Picture me telling it in the dark, shining a light bulb under my chin. Only it was not a dark and stormy night, thank GOODness. (Just dark.)

My dear friend Kevin brought an entourage of Houston-based buddies to New Orleans last Friday night. The plan was then to drive to Other Kevin's Halloween house party in Baton Rouge on Saturday night. Initially, the goal was to be in Baton Rouge (about an hour/hour and a half from NOLA) by 7. Predictably, that did not happen. Instead, we ended up at dinner at 7 in NOLA, and left from there.

Kevin rode with me, the rest rode in their cars. The ride was full of laughter and singing Disney music at the top of our lungs...

Until...

A little over a half hour into the drive, I notice that I'd forgotten to fill up my gas. I notice this as I entered onto a very large bridge. I started to get nervous, but I have a brand new car that tells you exactly how many miles you have until empty (as opposed to just a light that comes on). When I'd entered onto the bridge, the light had indeed come on, but I still had a solid 30 or so miles to empty.

And then the bridge kept going. And going. I figured, I just have to get past it, and then I'm sure there will be an exit for gas at the end of it.

(See what I did there?)

We get off the bridge. No exits. For miles. And miles.

And then the panic hit.

Kevin tried to search for a gas station. An exit finally emerged, and I asked if I should take it. According to his phone, that was a good idea. I was unsure, because it didn't look like an exit to a place, but rather a highway. But I was in panic mode and took a chance.

It was an exit onto I55. You know what's on I55?

Absolutely...

At this point, we're in the teens in terms of number of miles to empty. I'm not a person who panics much, but it grew and grew. And it grew exponentially when we finally came upon an exit, mostly because our hopes were raised and instantly quashed when we saw that there was literally nothing at this exit. Not even any lights. It was horrifying; felt like a scene straight out of Deliverance.

Finally, with 7 miles to empty, I pulled over to call for help. Fortunately, I had a fully charged phone. Thank GOODNESS. It took forever for me to make them understand where exactly we were, but we finally got help (after many comments in the vain of "wow, you're really in the middle of nowhere." NOT HELPING, LADY!)

So help was on the way. But, as the great Tom Petty once said, "the waiting is the hardest part."

We ultimately waited for about an hour and a half altogether, and while Kevin kept me as calm as possible, I have never had such a full body reaction to stress. I can think of only one other comparably stressful experience, which is when I left my suitcase on a bus in Jerusalem. In Israel, that is some serious shit. You can read all about THAT doozy of an experience here.

But at least when I was chasing around the Jerusalem bus depot trying to get help, I was actively doing something. This was just...waiting. Every so often I had to shake my fists or something, anything to release the stress. It didn't really release much, but it was almost involuntary. Not a panic attack exactly, because it wasn't like I couldn't breathe...but the compounding of being scared of the dark with being in the middle of nowhere with being angry at myself for my stupidity with thinking about all the ways I could have prevented this with feeling like I'd ruined the party for myself and for Kevin...it was a lot to deal with, especially within the confines of my little Honda Civic.

Anyway, as with most things, it worked out fine. The dude finally got to us with 2 gallons of gas, which was more than enough to get us moving (thanks, gas efficient Honda!), and the guy was super nice. We got to the party at 11:30, when it was already poppin, and had the best costumes there. And we even laughed at the irony of the fact that almost everyone at the party works for Exxon Mobil.

Lessons learned:

1) CHECK YOUR GAS. Just because you live in a small enough place that you almost never have to fill your tank, doesn't mean you shouldn't REMEMBER TO FILL YOUR TANK.

2) There are next to no exits at a certain point between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and lots of bridges. This is not Florida.

3) Kevin is a godsend, an amazing person and an amazing friend. I cherished him before, but he is truly a treasure. Also, this.

But the main lesson learned from the experience is to remember the mantra I took away from my Jerusalem experience. As I watched the bus drive away with my bag, I thought to myself, "Self, you have two options: freak out, or don't freak out. Either way, the bag is still on the bus."

That was hard to keep in mind in this particular situation, despite Kevin's best efforts. But the moral of this chilling tale is to always remember your options in moments of stress. And always remember...

THE BAG IS STILL ON THE BUS.