A sphincter asks what?

Thursday night was a first for me. What could that be, you ask? Well, I went to the grocery store with my SIL and two nieces to pick up some goodies that are more kid-appropriate, and I looked at my gas gauge only to discover that it's on E. For whatever reason, the sensor alarm that I'd stupidly relied upon failed to forewarn me.

I quickly try to drive over to the nearest gas station, and about a block short, yet right before the entrance to a major thoroughfare, the engine just died (on Denny Way before 99 for you Seattle-ites). It took me a second to figure out where the hazards are (I'm still used to my old car), and flipped them on and had to wave people around me b/c apparently suddenly stopping and turning on hazards isn't enough of a clue to go around.

Jessica, my SIL, decides to run to the gas station for the can while I wait with the two toddlers, who handled themselves well. I told them we'd run out of gas and they started laughing, I think because they thought I'd run out of farting "gas."

Meanwhile, I'm amazed at how many cars I watch in my rearview mirror come to a complete stop behind me, despite the fact they had ample time to notice my blinking hazards in the pitch black, switch lanes, and not back up traffic. Now, I know where the jams come from -- the dillweeds that pay no attention -- and can't think ahead.

Jess brings back the can, and when I grabbed it, gas sloshed all over my seat and hand b/c I didn't realize there was an open vent out the back. I invert the pump and try to pour it down the gas hole, only the crap is gurgling out the vent all over me. I'm literally flammable at this point.

I finally figure out that there was some type of cap on the inside portion of the spigot and take it off, so I'm ready to go. As I heave the can back up to pour, this SUV pulls around me (yes, one of the morons who came to a complete stop and didn't have to), rolls down the window and I'm actually thinking he might be stopping to see if I need help. But no, he asks (with a buddy in the driver's seat):

"Do you know where Boren street is?"

You've got to be kidding me. I told him, "You know, I'm a little busy now, but why don't I take the time to help you out and it's right there."

"Thanks," they said, then rolled the window up and kept driving, never once asking if I was okay. I mean, don't we all like to stick our asses out six inches from to 35 mph traffic flying by, just to give directions?