Adventure

Last night was most adventuresome.

The day was mundane. I spent about 12 hours studying for my Church History final that I just took. The fun began on the trip from Princeton back to Philadelphia upon which I embarked at approximately 1 AM.

I knew driving up to school that I was going to need gas on the way home. I was trying to get there by a specific time, so I didn’t fill up before I arrived, assuming that I would be able to make a stop before I left New Jersey to get gas on the return trip. I was right, it just turned out to be much more difficult than I anticipated.

New Jersey has these crazy things called “full-service” gas stations. I don’t know anything about them except this: a) they freak me out, and b) somehow gas is still 30 cents per gallon cheaper than across the state line in Pennsylvania. I like paying less for gas, and I suppose there are worse things than having someone else pump, so I try to frequent them. Unfortunately, what I did not know is that “full-service” is actually a euphemism for “if-you-want-to-pump-your-own-gas-then-screw-you.” This knowledge quickly became my own as I pulled into the first gas station and found the handles padlocked to the pumps. Optimistic as I am, I tried a second station. This time there were no padlocks, but it was an old school station with the rotary numbers and no credit card swiper on the pump itself. Third time’s a charm, right? No padlocks and a card swiper told me I was in business. I inserted my card and removed quickly, and the screen said enter your pin. I did, hit enter, and when I looked at the screen it said that I was going to pump over $70.00 worth of gasoline. I did not need that much gasoline. So, I hit cancel and tried again, but the pump told me to see the attendant that was not inside. After striking out on three straight pitches, I did the only thing I could think to do at this point: keep going down the highway and pray.

I hop in the car and start cruising down the highway with the heat and radio off. If I would have had cargo, it would have been thrown overboard. I was determined to make it to the next gas station. Unfortunately, my car doesn’t run on determination. Shortly after entering the state of Pennsylvania, my pearl Honda Prelude sputtered to a stop.

I pulled the vehicle to the side of Interstate 95, turned on my flashers, and scratched my head. It was nearing two o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t really know where I was. So, I changed out my black sweatshirt for my newly purchased orange Princeton hoodie, so that if I was struck by a vehicle, the driver would at least see me first, turned on my hazard flashers, grabbed my one gallon gas can that resides in my trunk for just such occasions, and walked. Of course, as anyone in my position should have anticipated, as soon as I slammed the lid of my trunk, it began to snow. Big, huge flakes. Snow is wet.

After a half-mile or so, I came in view of the sign that informed me of what the next exit was going to be. More bad news. Route 1 does not have a gas station within 4 miles of the highway, which meant I essentially had two options: I could walk down Route 1 for 4 miles until I got to the first fueling station, or I could stay on 95 and hope the next exit beyond this one had a gas station close. It was at this point that I remembered that I have a MyTouch 3G. I typed in the word “gas” into Google Maps and my lovely phone informed me that I could get gas about two miles back up the highway, if I was willing to cross over to the other side, which I was. So, I did.

Then, walking northbound on the shoulder of I-95, I decided that I could put away my thumb. No person in their right mind would pick up a hitchhiker on the side of the highway at 2:30 AM, especially one that looked like me, and I didn’t want to be picked up by a driver that wasn’t in his or her right mind. As I was contemplating what I would think about myself if I saw me walking up the side of the highway at that time of night, I came across some new information that moved my disposition further in the direction it was already moving. The road that I was supposed to walk to get to the targeted treasure trove of fossil fuels was actually an overpass, and, ironically, it was the same overpass underneath which my car had so gracefully glided to rest. Once again, I scratched my head, looking up at the bridge. There seemed to be no was to ascend. Defeated and dejected, I decided to once again Frogger my way back across to me vehicular cemetery, when, lo, a policeman-officer with lights a-flashin’ pulled up behind my car.

I became hopeful.

The policeman-officer, however, did not appreciate peripherally seeing what might be a bearded man dressed in all orange running toward him, climbing the fence in between the northbound and southbound lanes of traffic to get there. Especially, when, as I quickly learned, that someone had called and reported a “creepy, suspicious man wandering down the highway.” After being thoroughly humiliated (there’s a joke here somewhere between “frisking” and “frisky”), the officer allowed me to tell him my story up to that point. I say “up to that point” because there is still more to come.

Upon finding me neither creepy nor suspicious, or, at least not suspicious, the policeman-officer decided to give me a ride to the nearest gas station, which, as it turned out, was just off the highway at the next exit south of Route 1. We reached the filling station and followed the instructions provided. Insert card or pay inside. Quickly remove card. Enter pin. Call card issuer.

Cuss words.

I informed the kind officer that I was going to need to call my credit card, and he did the reasonable thing and returned to his heated vehicle. I, instead, stood in front of the pump getting snowed on, while on hold for 10 minutes. Eventually, someone answered and informed me that there had been a fraud alert placed on my card, and would I like it removed. Well, yes, I would like it removed. Alright, sir, all we need to do is verify your identity by asking you a few questions that come from public record unrelated to your account, then we can review your account activity to see exactly why this hold was put on your card.

After another ten minutes and an interrogation that would have made Jack Bauer proud, the phone banker proceeded to inform me that the alarm had been sounded when the card was used at 3 different gas stations, and a purchase of 70-some-odd dollars had been approved and then canceled. Apparently, that’s “suspicious” behavior. Apparently the over-anxious passerby was right to report me to the authorities. It would only take about 15 minutes to get my card working again. With that as a motivating bit of information, the policeman-officer went into the gas station and gave the cashier three dollars, which is exactly how much my 1-gallon can will hold at $2.79 (and 9/10) per gallon. I filled my red plastic jug and crawled into the tight quarters of the back of the cop car.

Finally, I was able to put the long gallon into my gas tank, and the good ol’ ‘Lude cranked on the first try. After, the policeman-officer wished me good luck and I thanked him profusely, I drove up to the station, purchased $20 of gasoline with my newly reactivated visa check card, and decided that driving home would, at this point, be pointless. It was, after all, the dreaded #4am and I wanted to be in the library early to finish studying for my final that day. So, got on I-95 N and was re-welcomed by the sign into New Jersey.

As it turns out, 3 and a half hours of sleep in the drivers seat of your car when it is 20 degrees outside is not the best way to prepare for a Early to Medieval Church History final.

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