This was written during the gas shortage of 1973
by Phil Kendall
It was nearing the end, a furious gas pumping day at Harry's Arco, and there were still cars jamming the lot like they do before a Husky football game. I had been waiting for about two hours and had finally reached one of the precious pumps. At this time Harry came out of his office, a megaphone in hand, and announced, "According to our records, we are nearly out of gas. There is no way we will be able to supply all of you. Those of you waiting near the ends of the lines are wasting your time. I am very sorry but the situation is out of our control. Thank you."
This was very bad news, indeed, but I must admit that the relief I felt from feeling that nozzle in my hand immensely overshadowed the empathy I had for the unlucky motorists. I locked the trigger at the "on" position and walked around my car, polishing the headlights and removing any major bird, bug and dirt splotches. I heard some loud yelling and swearing and turned around to see a man jerk the nozzle out of my tank and throw it to the ground. Gas spilled everywhere. Naturally, I was aroused by this.
I hurried to the spewing nozzle and stuck it back in the tank. He immediately jerked it out again. "What are you doing? Are you a crazy man?" I yelled. I stuck the nozzle back in the tank and held it there. He grabbed at the nozzle and we wrestled over it. Being about six-two and 200 pounds, he was quite a bit stronger than me, a scrawny five-nine. After a tough struggle, he tore the nozzle loose and pulled the trigger to its limit. He swung it over his head like he was going to rope a calf. "Harry!" I yelled. This really made the crazy man mad. He turned the nozzle on me. I was so stunned, I hardly reacted at all. He threw down the nozzle and pulled out a butane lighter. I think I could have won a dog race.
In between and around the cars I ran, followed by this crazy man and his torch. Tearing at my clothes, I managed to get my shirt off. Taking my pants off would be too dangerous. I noticed a car with one woman in it. Luckily, the passenger door was unlocked. I jumped in. "Lady, this guy's going to kill me. He's got a lighter and I'm soaked with gas." While I said this, I scrambled around the car locking all the doors. Not wanting to take any chances, I ripped my shoes and pants off. The lady, who had sat aghast since I entered her car, began screaming, "An exhibitionist! An exhibitionist!" She tried to open her door to get out. I grabbed her. "Lady, don't, please. He's going to kill me."
The man was pounding on the windows, glaring ferociously at me. The lady screamed, "A rapist! A rapist!" I could see that the best thing to do would be to get the hell out of there, so I shoved the screaming lady over to my side and grabbed her seat. The keys were in the ignition and I started the engine. Grabbing onto the lady with one hand and the wheel with the other, I slammed into the car in front of me and behind me, but managed to maneuver out into the street. I let go of the lady and she rolled down her window, stuck her head out and screamed, "A kidnapper! A kidnapper!" I sure am glad I wasn't in a downtown area. I stopped the car about a block from a friend's house, grabbed only my underwear, which were only slightly wet, put them on and ran. I could hear the lady screaming, "An abductor! An abductor!"
Copyright © Philip A Kendall, All Rights Reserved.
Phil was a great storyteller. Fact or fiction? You be the judge.
