As I sat in the carport of Chase Bank, waiting for my deposit slip to come shooting out in an air tube, my Ford’s engine began to make chugging, gasping noises. “Oh no”, I thought, “I ran out of gas”. Sure enough, the gas guage read “E”; the car coughed twice, then was quiet.
I retrieved my deposit slip from the plastic tube, then realized that I didn’t have room enough to open my car door and get out. After shifting the car into neutral, I contorted my body like a Cirque de Sole gymnast, forced my body across the front seat and tumbled out onto the pavement, looking like a crazed Norwegian clown on vacation.
I got behind my Ford and began pushing the car through the tunnel and out the other side of the drive-through banking station. Soon the car began to pick up speed because it was headed slightly downhill. I began frantically jogging alongside the car trying to figure out how to jump in the front seat without killing myself. It looks so easy in James Bond movies, but James Bond is not an overweight, out-of-shape preacher wearing brown dress shoes trying to squeeze into a Ford Crown Victoria as it’s rolling down a hill.
Just as I gave up, I saw the Chase Bank sign right off the curb. “Give me a break,” I breathed, just as the car jumped over the curb onto the grass and flattened the sign.
The security guards came running out of their lookout perch, laughing so hard they were snorting. The shorter one arrived first and asked me, “What’s going on, chief?” “Um”, I stammered, “I was pushing my car that was out of gas and it picked up speed and I couldn’t stop it….chief.”
Right at that moment, Esther called, and said she would bring our gas can to rescue me. “Guys, I’m really embarrassed here, but it doesn’t look like much damage happened to your sign; the ground was so soft from the rain that it just fell over.” “Well, we’ve got to fill out a police report anyway,” he said.
I took a bunch of photos in case they tried to make me pay hundreds of dollars for a silly scratch, then, after the guards took my information, Esther arrived. When she heard the story, she burst out laughing as well. “Do you have security camera footage of my husband running alongside his car?”, she asked. “I would pay you for it.”
The three guards, still laughing, helped me push my car off the curb, then I poured the gas Esther had brought into the car.
As I started the car, one of the security guards said, “Take care, Bro.; you made my day.” I smiled wanly and pulled away.