He was quick to return my call, and within 20 minutes had picked me up at Ollie’s, driven me to the nearby Sunoco to pick up a can of gas, and dropped me off at my car. I told him I’d take it from here, and he was off.
One gallon of fuel later, my car was even less responsive. I turned the key and absolutely nothing happened. My battery was dead.
Being that my car’s hood was parked in on all sides, I resolved to waiting for any nearby driver to return to their vehicle. Within five minutes, a woman came out of Ollie’s to the car parked directly in front of mine. I almost missed her.
“Excuse me!” I piped up, with my car door half open, pausing to think of how to phrase my request most effectively. “My car... do you have a second? My car needs a jump.”
“Sorry, I don’t,” was all she could say before retreating into Ollie’s. She returned with a grocery cart of supplies, avoiding eye contact with me as I leaned my back against the side of my car, jumper cables in hand. I was hoping she would reconsider, but was fine waiting for her to pack up her car and move it from the spot so another less hurried driver could pull in and assist me.
And then, after loading her car, she disappeared into the liquor store.
I again turned to my roommate, thinking he might not mind driving out again, but mostly out of desperation, seeking guidance. He suggested I look for someone driving a truck, because they “are always willing to jump your car.”
Not five minutes later, a man in a white pickup truck pulled up kitty corner to my white Hyundai Accent.
The man, whose name I didn’t get to ask, was more than happy to help me out of a jam — he jumped at the opportunity. He didn’t hesitate to move his car into the spot next to mine, which had just become vacant, in order to get his truck’s battery close enough for my short jumper cables to reach.