So, on the drive back from Ohio, I had to stop at a TimeWarner office to turn in my modem. My car was fully packed with all the junk from my little apartment…including a full 5-gallon gas can.
I had it with me because my younger brother…you know, the paranoid one…wanted me always able to retreat to his remote holdfast in the event of Zombie Apocalypse or, worse, UUG! Utterly Unfettered Government. Since I haven’t had to cut and run (yet), this was the only time I’ve ever had it with me.
So I come out of the office and two gals are calling to me from their car, asking for my help. I’m already instinctively reaching for my wallet, but they don’t react at all like panhandlers. “Oh,” I realized, “you actually need gas.” And I grinned. Said, “give me a minute,” and fired off a quick prayer to the Lord for this really nifty chance to do a good deed.
They were suitably amazed when I “hey-presto!”ed that gas tank from a crammed-to-the-gunwales Camry.