It was a beautiful summer day in 1995. I was driving in my brand new 1995 Z28 Chevy convertible. The top was down, the wind was heavenly, and I was the king of the road. I had recently gotten a haircut and shave. And as for as dress was concerned, it was my Sunday’s best. Now when I say Sunday’s best, I mean I had on my very best three-piece suit, fresh from the cleaners. Starched white shirt, and shoes shined so tough they could be used as mirrors. I was clean! I felt good and was looking great.
Not only did I know it but also there were several people who gave me a horn honk of approval as I drove along. Speaking specifically, this one carload of girls drove pass me whistling, honking, and yelling appreciatively at the splendor of me. I didn’t need their confirmation; I knew my place. I felt good and was looking great!
Then, suddenly, there was an unsuspected jolt from the car. Then another. O my god, another jolt! I looked down and the gas tank was on E. I’m out of gas.
Thankfully, however, I am but a fumes roll from a gas station. As the car limps to a stop, nearly 10ft away from a pump, I began to wonder how it would have been if I would have ran out of gas on the road.
Wouldn’t that have been something, me in my Sunday’s best, shinny shoes and all, walking down the road, toting a gas tank to a gas broke convertible Z28 Chevy Camaro.
This experience made me realize that when you are driving down the street judging other cars from the outside, despite their style or look, you will never be able to tell whether or not they are driving with a full tank.
This is Ralph and I am just another car on the road.