Last night we returned from three days in southwest Colorado where we visited son Wildebeest, his girlfriend, and their new cat (shout-out to adorable Franklin!) Halfway through the six-hour drive home, we stopped for gas in Del Norte. I pulled Moby the campervan next to a pump before noticing a sign that said if we used that pump, pre-payment was required inside. Zippy asked me to move to another pump.

I pulled forward and began circling another pump island so that the gas tank would be on the correct side. A truck was parked at the neighboring pump which meant that because I hadn’t made a wide turn, I had to back up a bit. I did so using the side mirror, watching as the rear of the van remained clear of the pump island guardrail. Plenty of space! Then I put Moby in DRIVE and moved forward.

CRUUUNCH
Immediate expletives from Zippy
Nonsensical panicked embarrassment from me that also included expletives

While I remained frozen in the driver’s seat, awash in a sea of excruciating déjà vu, Zippy got out to assess. He quickly reported that I’d somehow hit this guardrail so that Moby’s left rear tire was pushed against it, leaving no room to move forward.

As Zippy examined the situation, a man using the opposite pump came over to see what was going on. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I sat there behind the steering wheel, talking to myself and bowing my head in shame. The man with the truck I’d backed up to avoid hitting, noticed my angst and assured me everything was okay, that it was only a vehicle. Then he joined the other two men’s discussion about the best strategy for getting Moby unstuck. Truck Man had me put Moby in park while the three of them tried rocking the van to get it free. But they weren’t strong enough and no one else joined the effort, so Truck Man instructed me to crank the steering wheel ALL the way and then sloooooowly back up.

LIBERATION!

As I shouted my thanks and gratitude to them, Truck Man grinned and said, “Now you have a good story about that first blemish.” He got in his truck and drove away while the other man talked with his friend who’d just come outside, pointing to Moby and mimicking the rocking motion. Apparently, he’d also gained a good story. My face burned with the knowledge that my carelessness was at the core of his retelling.

See, this wasn’t my first experience getting stuck like that. Many years ago when I was in high school, my boyfriend worked at a gas station/garage and one afternoon I went there to borrow his beloved Camaro. After going inside to get the keys from him, I got in the car that was parked between two white gas tanker trucks, and backed out.

CRUUUNCH

The car was wedged up against one of the tanker trucks. My boyfriend LOVED that car and I had to walk back inside to let him know what I’d done. Not only that, I had to tell him in front of his co-workers who hooted and hollered before following us outside to witness my humiliation. There was no best approach in that situation–going forward would scrape the car and going backward would scrape the car–so my boyfriend chose to back it out.

SCRAAAPE

Thanks to me, there was blue paint on the white tanker truck and white paint on the blue Camaro. Over the years, the sting of that humiliation lessened as it turned into a memory of me being young and foolish. And because nothing like that had ever happened again, it morphed into a funny story from my early driving years. Until yesterday.

Except, while yesterday’s embarrassment came on fast, this time it faded relatively quickly. Zippy was nothing but kind. Truck Man was not only kind, but also funny. And the other guy? Well, he now has a story to tell about his role in freeing a cargo van. To be clear, my high school boyfriend had also been pretty chill about his Camaro and it would be easy to blame my flaming red embarrassment on his co-workers. But I’m pretty sure what I’m feeling right now is the result of being decades beyond where I was when backing up that dark blue Camaro. Also?

There’s no blue paint/evidence on Moby. Just some faint red smears.

Heck, they could be ketchup.

Thanks for the memories, Del Norte!