Soaked to the skin

John needed rescuing today.  His car has been doing this weird thing for the last few months.  If he stops somewhere briefly (an errand on the way home, coffee on the way to work, etc), he can’t start the car again unless he puts more gas in, even when the tank is nearly full.  One time he was able to start it after he waited about half an hour, but other times, that hasn’t worked.  Today, he called from the parking lot outside AutoZone (maybe it was Advanced Auto Parts – I can’t keep those stores straight), apologized because it was pouring down rain, and asked me to bring the full gas can.  It wasn’t raining at home yet (the wind had just picked up, but the rain hadn’t arrived), so I said of course I’ll go help him.  In the time it took me to put my shoes on (flip-flops, even), buckets of water started pouring from the sky.  I opened the garage door, grabbed a couple of towels, dashed to the car (in the driveway) to throw the towels and my wallet into the front seat, and was soaked.  I still had to dash to the garage for the gas can, and then to the back of the car to put it in the trunk, and then back to the front seat.  I was wet through and I pointed the garage door remote thing at the garage and – nothing.  Not working.  So I grabbed my keys, went back in through the front door, closed the garage door, and ran back to the car.  Buckets of water in high winds were coming out of the sky, and when I made it back to the car, I looked like a drowned rat.  Water was streaming from my hair to my feet.  John was only ten miles away (maybe seven or eight), and by the time I got there, it wasn’t raining anymore.  And John?  Barely damp.  If I had waited five minutes to come to his rescue, I could have stayed dry.  But he’s grateful.  That works for me.

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