Glisan + Gasoline
Last night was a travesty.
Johnny called me at 8:30 to ask me to come help him out, he had ran out of gas on I-205. I am always happy to help a friend, but this incident pushed me to the edge of both my sanity and composure. It wasn’t anything Johnny did (his stories of 16 year-old’s always entertain), just my already poor mood being tested by half-autistic gas station attendants and terrible road signs.
I drove out to Gresham- a place that ranks just next to Salem on my “I-would-rather-be-shot-in-the-kneecap” scale- already in a bad mood. My mood was not improved after the third gas station attendant looked at me with his non-lazy eye like I was crazy asking to borrow a gas can. One of them told me he’d sell me gas, but I couldn’t use his can. When I asked him what he thought I should use to transport said gasoline, he looked thoughtful (this brought him from “complete inbred” to “second to last place at the special olympics”).
“Well, I guess you could use a milk jug, you’d have to drink the milk though. HAHAHAHA.”
His laugh was something between a screech and a hiccup. It ground every last remaining nerve I possessed. I asked if they had a can I could buy, they did- for $5 dollars.
Now I discovered the true reason I got a phone call from Johnny- he had no money.
I payed for my newly acquired can of gas and the gallon inside of it, and went to my car cursing the world and everything in it. Thank god I had a towel to stifle the leaking petrol and the fumes, now my car will only smell like it for a week instead of a month.
At this point, I was furious. Furious with everything that had happened to me that day, week, month, and year. Furious with friends that take advantage of another’s kindness, with liars, with those that won’t do a damn thing to change what they claim to hate. Furious with myself for not just giving them the middle finger. Furious with every car on the road. Furious with myself.
I drove like a fucking crazy, daring anyone to get in my way. Johnny knows me well enough to keep his mouth shut in this situation, I can verbally undress and whip a person like few others. Unbeknownst to me, the street I was on didn’t connect with any of the exits that would take me Johnny’s abandoned car. When I made this discovery, my mood went even further south- at this point nearing the pole.
We drove for probably 20 minutes before getting back to Johnny’s car, and by this time I was cooled down. I don’t stay angry long- I talk myself through these things very well. Replacing that anger was the deep sadness I’ve possessed for months now. A sadness I have had trouble harnessing and getting passed, but I am. I’ve found the best way to deal with a situation like this is to laugh at it. If I find joy within anger, I no longer am a prisoner of it. I think anger is a useful tool, within moderation, and combined with other emotions that move me away from anger and back towards a more positive outlook.
I emptied the can into his tank, got in my car and went. I have no animosity for helping a friend in need, but I don’t enjoy feeling like the only time I get a call is when that friend IS in need of something. I guess the saying is true…
“A friend in need is a friend indeed.”
“Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.”