GAS
Story by Klara Cook, 2002
God gives the gifts of grace unevenly. Some have the gift to talk and
some have the gift to keep silent. Some have the gift to know all about cars, and some do not know the difference between a transmission and a combustion engine. I am thinking of myself as being a reasonably intelligent woman. I have read many books, big books, difficult books. I can read German books, and I can read English books, and with some effort I can still read De Bello Gallico. None of those achievements count if you are not able to put gas into the tank of your car. It is an exercise in humility when you realize that you lack one of the basic human skills.There was a time, not too long ago, when every filling station offered full service. These accommodations have disappeared, together with the corner grocery store .I looked for help at the Exxon station, at the Chevron station, at Sunoco, to no avail. I was out of luck, and in the mean time the gas in the tank
got lower and lower.I was reminded of Mrs. Miller, the public stenographer, who could not cook,
not even her own breakfast. When she had gotten ready to get married, she had said to her mother: “ I cannot cook.” And, her mother gave her the best advice she had ever received: “Don’t learn it, otherwise you will be expected to do it”. She had taken the wise advice of her mother to heart, and now, high in her eighties, she eat her breakfast in one of the fast food places, where, no doubt, she started the day in animated discussion with other people who did not know how to cook their own breakfast. I was afraid that I was not so lucky as old Mrs. Miller.I had to learn how to fill my gas tank or to stop driving, which was not an option. My daughter had mad several attempts to show me the difficult procedure, to no avail. I realized that a PHD is worthless if you are not able to fill your gas tank. And, in the mean time, I had almost used the remaining gas. Finally, near despair, I sent an email to Jessie and asked her for step by step instructions. The instructions came in a long email—nothing left out. In reading the instructions the procedure became even more involved. I thought that she overdid it when she admonished me to remember on which side of the car the gas cap was located—I knew that much! The dreaded day came nearer and I had to make a decision. I had several options open: 1) I could stop driving, but this was out of question. 2) I could ask Helen to take my car to a filling station. I had asked her once before, but I do not like to advertise my incompetence. 3) I could drive all by myself to a station, and just follow the instructions step by step—but what, if I got mixed up?4) I could ask Irene to assist me on that first trip, just in case I would forget one of the steps.In considering the different possibilities number 4 seemed to me the best one.I got gas under watchful eye of Irene. It really was not very difficult, and it gave a boost to my self-confidence. Two weeks later I made the trip all by myself. Irene
was surprised.