The only time I ran out of gas was in a boat. My family had a waterskiing boat and on a camping trip I took a couple of friend out for a ride when it was late evening. We ran out of gas and the girl thought that I was joking. Night fell and we were out in the middle of a lake without any way of getting back.
And of course, this was well before cell phones.
After we didn’t return my father came out with another guy in another boat and found us and we didn’t have to spend the night in the boat.
I think I’m pretty typical of most things, except having lived in Asia forever there are a lot of TV shows I’ve never seen.
I have heard of that variety of peanut butter, but I don’t think I can get it here in a store nearby. Peanut butter per se is a rare and rather exotic item in Germany, and you’ll be lucky if a supermarket carries one brand, and then the regular kind. I’m sure you’ll get more variety in larger cities with notably American ex-pat communities, but I live in a rural area.
Thanks to everyone for all the stories about running out of gas. I guess I’ve been luckier (or perhaps more anal) than a lot of people, which is why it never happened to me. When I was first learning to drive, lo those many years ago, my mother drilled it into my head that when the gas gauge reached one quarter of a tank, that’s when I should fill up. I can’t say I completely adhere to that today, but I do try to keep an eye on my fuel level and top up before it gets too low.
I never had any of my adult teeth extracted, but my last baby tooth refused to fall out on its own. I was very slow losing baby teeth; I was almost 7 before I lost my first one. I’d been shaving for years when I lost my last one at 14.
I have a 2013 Opel Corsa, so not the most modern and smartest car, but it has a three-tier system to prevent running out of gas. First, there’s a classic analog gas gauge and if the tank is only about a fifth full, the pointer gets into the red section. About the time when that happens, also a warning light on the dashboard lights up, accompanied by a beep tone. And finally, the board computer’s (amber monochrome, that’s how old-fashioned my car is) display has a steady display of the expected range in kilometers you can still go. So I’d have to be a fool to ignore all of those signs and run out of gas.
Yeah, I sometimes forget how large the USA is. Here in Germany, I don’t think there’s any place where you are farther away than, say, 15 km (about ten miles) from the next gas station.
I was driving through Amish country in central OH 3 decades ago, blissfully ignoring my gas tank UNTIL I was on the route in question (US 250), when I saw it was on the red line. I kept hoping I’d see a station over the next hill or dale, and was getting increasingly worried, until I spied a Sunoco up ahead. Topped her off, made a note of how many gallons I put in: 11.
Turns out my tank held exactly 11. [Toyota Tercel]
I wouldn’t have been able to go more than a mile on presumably what was already in the line. I am checking that route right now, and note 2 gaps over 10 miles, 12 and 15; years ago it likely was much worse.
I’d kinda sorta agree. It’s arrested. Not convicted. People get arrested for all manner of more minor events and are released/ desk ticketed/ not convicted in a courtroom or plea deal.
It’s humbling. Sitting on the NYC subway, I look around. Forget the statistic regarding being arrested. What percentage of my subway car is people who have been arrested and convicted of a felony, served their time and have been struggling for YEARS to re-integrate into a society that makes serious efforts to marginalize and continually punish them.
In farm country New York, from my place: 12 miles one way, 20 in another direction. Closest gas station about six miles in a third direction.
And I remember years ago, traveling through the northwest of the country, looking at the gas gauge, seeing less than half, and, knowing we were in thinly settled country, figuring we’d better fill up at the next town. Looked at the map, next town about twenty miles up the road. No problem.
Except the next town was a handful of buildings with no gas station. Map again. Ten or fifteen or maybe it was thirty miles to the next place. No problem . . . except no station there, either. Or at the next spot on the map. Or the one after —
Finally, getting close to running on fumes, a gas station!
Which was closed for the night. They did have a sign out, saying if you needed gas after hours to come to the house. Which we did. They charged us extra. We were indignant at the price, but we knew better than to say so; we just paid it.
They charged us, if I remember right, 77 cents a gallon. I told you it was a while ago.
Hmm. Never had COVID, smoked a cigarette, or seen the Godfather. Less common, but never been SCUBA diving. Never changed a diaper, but I have a new niece that I’ll see over the holidays, maybe then. Only illegal drug was pot, and not for a long time.
I lived on whole wheat bread, peanut butter, and raisin sandwiches when I was at MIT in the early 1970s, as those ingredients were on the ‘free’ list at my housing co-op, and the resulting sandwich was durable in a book bag for the nearly 365 Smoot bike ride from Boston to Cambridge, although frequently smushed into a brown lumpish something that revolted my luncheon companions.
Interesting, haven’t seen this here in Toronto. Coincidentally I forgot to restock with peanut butter at the market this morning. I have a jar of roasted (but not salted) peanuts left over from making GORP for hiking and I’m going to try making my own peanut butter from them with a blender. It may not be able to blend enough to form a paste, but I also have a mortar and pestle I can use to finish off with.
