Skinflint Samaritan

I pulled into the gas mart and stopped next to pump #3. As soon as I turned the key to shut the engine off, my replacement cell phone rang. It was my buddy, the guy who co-fronts the band with me, and I was so happy to hear from him coz my phone was working perfectly meaning we would have a few minutes of pleasant, uninterrupted by technical problems, conversation.

And those pleasant minutes, of course, turned into twenty and then thirty. I forgot all about why I stopped in the first place and, it wasn’t till the monster truck pulled behind me, flashed its high beams and honked its horn that I realized I was still parked by the gas pump, though I hadn’t pumped one drop of petrol.

I waved, “Sorry, my bad, Mister M. T.” The driver of the truck rolled down his window and hollered at me but I had already pulled from the octane island into a parking space.

The truck driver was still yelling at me but I payed him no mind coz I had to finish my conversation with my band buddy.

By the time I said goodbye, my Monster Truck Critic had left and I was free to return to #3 gas pump.

But, before I could crank my car and back out of my parking spot, a young man in a wife beater knocked on my window. I opened the door an inch so I could be heard when I asked, “What’s up?”

“Yo, dog,” he said. “Excuse me, I shouldn’t’ve called you dog but…”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m from Orange Beach and I had just enough gas to make it here for court now I’m lookin for enough gas money to maneuver my way ba…”

“I’ve got some change and a 5 spot. You can have the coin but I’m using the bill for my tank.”

I dug into one of my pockets and pulled out what looked to be 2 dollars in pennies, nickels, dimes and a couple of quarters.

“Thanks.”

“If you’re really trying to get to Orange Beach, you’re a long ways from enough.”

“True,” he said. “But, now I have a start.”

I turned the key, started my car and, for a change of scenery, pulled up to pump #2.

I got out my car and walked toward the store. I entered, stepped up to the cashier, presented my sawbuck and said, “3 dollars on pump 2.”

I took the change, walked out the door and up to the young man. I said, “Here you go. A couple of bucks more for your goal.”

He took the money and said, “Gettin there penny by penny. Thank you, sir. You’ve done a good thing.”

Maybe yes.

Maybe no.

I walked back to my car and pumped 3 dollars gas.

I returned the nozzle to its proper spot on the pump. Then, I opened the door on the driver’s side and, just before I climbed. In, I tapped the pocket that held my wallet.

That held my 10 bucks for tomorrow.

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About joefingas

I am a songwriter, poet, blues singer, and a boogie woogie piano player. I have a grandson but I have no children of my own. All my women have wised up and left me. I was a bum, a wino, a drug/alcohol counselor, a prevention/intervention specialist and a pretender. I have no more time to pretend.
This entry was posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, Co-Dependency, Denial, Love, Memoir, Money, Parenting, Poetry, Relationships. Bookmark the permalink.

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