Out of Gas

I woke up this morning to the clang of metal against metal as Repsol delivery man unloaded the tall propane bottles in front of our house.

"Gas is here!" my wife screamed.

"Gas is here!" I screamed, awakened by my wife.

"Gas is here!" my son screamed, awakened by me.

This was great news, since the day before we had run out of gas and so couldn't use the stove or the hot water heater. But we had to pay the Repsol man in cash.

"Shit, do we have cash?" I screamed, as I stumbled around.

"Shit, do we have cash!" my son screamed.

No, we didn't have cash.

"You say here," I told my wife and son. "I'll get cash."

I ran down the stairs, opened the gate for the Repsol man so he could start bringing in the propane, and ran to the ATM.

I got the cash. I ran back. Still in my flip flops. They had stayed on some how.

I returned as the Repsol man was finishing up installing the propane bottles.

I handed him the cash.

My wife and son cheered.

I danced in my pajamas.

We did it, we did it. We had gas!

For just a moment, I was a hero.