Last Friday, for the first time ever, I ran out of gas. This never happens to me. Of course, I allow the gas gauge to hover somewhere between 1/4 tank and empty before I fill it, but I have never, ever allowed it to get so far gone that the vehicle just sputters and dies. And so, if you were driving eastward in the middle lane on 4100 South just west of Bangerter Highway on Friday around 12:30 p.m., I apologize for the hold up.

I was headed across town in a borrowed vehicle to pick up a check, my dog in the seat next to me with her head hanging out of the window. The music on the radio station compelled me to tap my fingers on the steering wheel. The beautiful, sunny (a.k.a. blistering hot) day was for a quick car ride with poochie. I applied the brake as the five cars ahead of me stopped at the red light. My eyes flickered to the gas gauge, noting the little orange gas pump icon that warned of imminent propulsion failure. The gas station I frequent most often lay almost exactly two blocks from my current location. Surely Mr. Isuzu could hold out for another 4,000 feet. The car wheezed and rumbled, then died. No problem, just start this puppy again and we're good to go, right? Ha. Not. After a couple futile attempts to convince Mr. Isuzu that fumes were really, in all actuality, just extremely low-fat gas, I flicked on the hazard lights and whipped out my cell phone.

Person A didn't answer. Person B was caught in the middle of town, and wouldn't be able to get to me for another thirty minutes. Person C's phone consistently dropped the call after the first three words. Mom would be at work and unalbe to come to my aid. Little Sis was an hour away, slogging through mud and gunk. That left my non-existent, super-handsome, charming, and romantic boyfriend. He would, no doubt, put the problem of world peace, world hunger, and green-house warming on hold, and appear momentarily with the gas-can in hand - and the promise to invent that solar-powered car ASAP. I made a mental note to finally track down that guy and beg him to date me.

Meanwhile, I held up ten light changes, wincing and waving apologetically as cars - you know, the ones with full tanks of gas - honk and drive around. One kind and thoughtful lady asked if i wanted to borrow her cell phone. Whoever you are, that was the one thing that prevented me from repeatedly slamming my head into the steering wheel. Thank you.

Inspiration struck. I could push Mr. Isuzu into the next lane and into that empty lot. Tesoro gas lay onoe block behind me. An easy walk. Poochie and I could use a walk. I slipped the car into neutral and told poochie my plan. She didn't seem to care one way or the other, but whatever. It was a GOOD plan. I could get out of this myself. I opened the door, squealed, and slammed it shut again as a large SUV zoomed by. The next time, I looked behind me then opened the door.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to push an Isuzu Rodeo all by yourself? And where were all those large, helpful men I always see jogging behind stalled F-350's, joking with each other and occasionally tapping the truck with their forefinger to get it moving again? Wasn't there a stalled-car patrol? If not, I intend to invent one. It would be a van full of burly, good-natured people - men and women, let's be fair - that would drive around looking for people in distress. They could change tires, jump batteries, fill gas tanks, and, above all, help people push their car across one lane of traffic into an empty lot.

After being laughed, jeered, and yelled at for a few minutes, I gave up and climbed into the relative safety of the car. Now I began to panic. If I couldn't get gas, I couldn't get across town to pick up the check. If I couldn't get the check, I would be fired. If I was fired, poochie and I would starve. Then we would die.

I had just resigned myself to that fate, when rescue arrived in the form of a little white hatchback car. A tall, brawny man got out and asked if I needed help. His two little girls asked if I wanted a potato chip. I accepted the help, but declined the snack. He attached a tow-cable to the front of Mr. Isuzu and pulled (yes, his little car actually pulled all 15 tons of Mr. Isuzu) me across the Bangeter and into a parking lot. I thanked him profusely for saving my life and the life of my dog. I think I went a little bit overboard, because he stammered "You're welcome," and took off. Thank you, kind sir! I shall never forget what you have done for me!

It ended happily. Person C, having been informed by Person B of the problem, arrived within minutes, so I didn't even have to walk to the gas station. My faith in human kindness has been restored.