I learned a lesson... When the little orange needle gets below the E, it's time for gas. I've been driving the same car since I was 15, so that makes 6 years of never, I repeat, NEVER running out of gas. And I've had some close calls. (As seen in this picture- which is actually from a trip to Auburn, freshmen year, when there was a gas shortage and we could not find a single gas station that had gas). But I was not so lucky this fateful Friday afternoon. I knew it was coming too. Basically, I'm a dumb dumb. Fortunately I ran out of gas right across the street from my friends' house. Eight guys living in one house, lucky me. One of them came, gas tank in tow, drove me to the gas station, filled up the can, dumped in the gas, and got my little Camry movin' again. But all eight found out... So much for trying to keep my little blonde moment of the day a secret... Now I'll never live it down.
Traumatic event of the weekend number 2:
Getting stuck in a bathroom.
My friends had a tailgate before the Bama game at their house, The Brown Cow. Side note: I have no idea where it got this name, it originated before I came around I guess. Anyway, we had literally trekked from one corner of the Fort to other, drinking Diet Cokes, so Abby and I made a mad dash for the bathroom as soon as we got there. All went as planned until when we were trying to make our exit from the spacious Brown Cow bathroom. The doorknob fell off the door. Literally it just came right off in my hand. We tried and tried to fix it, but eventually we had to face the facts: We were stuck. Trapped in the bathroom. Fortunately, since we ran straight to the bathroom I had my phone. I started off calling the people we'd walked over with, no answer; moved on to the other girls we'd seen briefly while we were running up the stairs, no answer; my last option? that same house of boys. Had it been any other situation, I would've sucked it up and waited it out for a friend to call me back, or notice we'd been gone too long. However, claustrophobia started kicking in, and after banging on the door (Note: that is useless when on the second floor of a house with a million people downstairs making tons of noise) and taking out the screen of the window, only to see it was way, way too high up to jump I curled up on the floor, focused on breathing, and started making my way down the house list, finally getting rescued by the same guy who saved me from the side of the road the day before. I'm sure he appreciates that he's now made it to the very top of my "who-to-call-in-the-very-likely-case-of-an-unusual-emergency list."
To top it all off, my Vols lost to Bama. Big time. And I HATE Bama. And the guy in front of me kissed me on the hand.
Oh what a wonderfully strange, memorable, funny, damsel-in-distress type of weekend.