The Beast

We’ve had a full size SUV now since 2007. As I write that it seems as if it were just yesterday…and then I realize that it was eight years ago.

EIGHT. Sigh.

So anyway, we bought it because my wife wanted to be able to haul kids around. Not just our kids, but their inevitable friends that they would eventually get. She wanted a vehicle to haul *all* kids. And their stuff. And maybe their moms too. It needed to have a DVD player for the kids. And it had to be a big SUV because she was never going to get a minivan.

Ever.

Of course, when gas shot up in…oh yeah, 2007, we began to regret this restriction on our buying choices. However, even though fuel cost has continued to plague us, the vehicle did accomplish the stated mission and has been a fairly good car…until the last year or so, hence its relatively recent moniker, “The Beast”. Granted, it’s got over 200,000 miles on it and the kids have basically moved in and have used it as their second bedroom-kitchen-playroom-and-sometimes-bathroom. The doors all work, and the paint is good, and of course it still gets us from A to B—

Well, I should say usually gets from A to B, since the fuel gauge is broken it sometimes has the tendency to…uhm…well…run out of gas.

Like, twice so far.

On the interstate.

No lie.

The most recent time was a couple weekends ago and we were in Atlanta taking my mother-in-law to the airport. I was just going to run her up there real quick by myself, but my wife thought it would be a fun trip for the kids so they all tagged along. (Remember? Ample seating…) The kids could have watched a movie on the journey but the DVD player stopped working two years ago. We noticed on the way up there that we’d been about a half a tank or so far (we use the odometer to measure the fuel level), but decided we had plenty of gas to get there and fill up. And get there we did. We dropped her off and headed back home.

To Alabama.

Wait – what? Oh darn it – I got on the wrong interstate…I-85 South instead of I-75 South. I wish I had a good excuse why, but I just don’t. It was about that time that my youngest chimed in…

#3: “I need to tee-tee.”
Wife: “When you turn around can we stop and let #3 pee?”
Me: “Sure we can all go. They’re probably hungry so let’s let them get a snack.”
[exit] Wife: “Hey there’s gas, let’s go ahead and fill up.”
Me: “Let’s let him pee first and then we’ll go after.”
[stop at McDonald’s for snack and pee] [leave McDonald’s and get back on interstate] [uh oh]

So we left McDonald’s and headed back north to get on the loop. As soon as we get on the loop heading to I-75 South the car stops responding. Having experienced this very same phenomenon before in the very same car driving in the very same type of road I immediately knew what had happened.

Facepalm.

You remember that scene in Weird Science where the guys are sitting there with bras on their heads and a giant missile appears in their living room? That quote immediately came to my mind: “You forgot to hook up the doll.”

Well, I forgot to fill up the tank.

For those of you that don’t know, what happens when your car runs out of gas is that everything stops working and lots of nifty lights start lighting up your dashboard like a Christmas tree. Oh, and the power steering completely stops so it’s very difficult impossible to steer. The best thing to do is put it in neutral and coast into the emergency lane, since losing the ability to both accelerate and steer should qualify for at least some sort of emergency. Thankfully we were already in the slow lane, so it wasn’t too bad.

We stop. Cars are zooming by and jets are soaring directly overhead at landing altitudes since we were only a couple hundred yards from a runway. I immediately think to get out and walk to get some gas. Surely there should be some at the next exit. But now I can’t leave because the whole family is there and I can’t leave them in the car. Walking with 3 kids on the interstate is also out of the question. That’s when my wife thinks to call emergency roadside assistance.

“Hello? How can we help you?”
“We need gas.”
“Ok, it’s on the way! Next time don’t be such a dummy!”

(That’s probably not exactly how it went, but that’s pretty much how I remember it…)

So gas arrives. Eventually. He brings a gallon or so and pours it in. The car still won’t crank. It just turns. What follows next is thirty minutes of frustrated Google searching about what it could mean interspersed with suggestions from my wife about how we should get rid of the car, which was exceedingly helpful to our plight. I called a family friend who suggested I look for something under the hood, so I went outside while my wife operated the ignition.

“Can you hear the fuel pump?”
“No, I hear a thousand cars and a giant 757 400 feet over my head. For that matter I can barely hear you.”
“Can you find a release valve to bleed the air out of the system?”
“A whatty-what to what?”
“You might just not have enough gas in it. Are you parked on an incline?”
“Well, yes—”

It was about that time that the hood slammed down on my head. Oh, didn’t I mention? Apparently the hood struts are worn out and can’t hold the hood up any more.

So I hung up, nursed my head, and decided to go about getting more gas and eliminate that possibility. If that didn’t work we’d need a tow; presumably back home since at that point we’d be pretty sure the fuel pump was fried. This would cost nearly $200, so my wife called a friend who thankfully lived in a nearby area and her husband offered to bring us some gas to try that first. Now we just had to wait.

It was a perfect time for more advice about the future of the car and our need to de-possess it, so my wife obliged.

The kids patiently watched a TV show on a shared iPad. (They were sooooooooooo good throughout all this…)

And finally he arrived. He poured it in. I turned the key on and off a few times to run the pump without actually starting. Moment of truth. I turned the ignition fully. It works!! (THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!)

We said good bye and immediately drove to the nearest gas station. We were on our way home. What a day.

In conclusion, I now fill up at the half tank level. My wife suggested that months ago, but what does she know? As I was recounting this story to my friend, he suggested the same thing and now somehow it seems like a completely reasonable solution. When I told my wife of my new decision, I was met with a glare.

Yeah, yeah, sometimes I’m a dummy. The Emergency Roadside Assistance lady got it right.