THE GAS TANK DICHOTOMY

By Greg Evans

What does it tell you about a person who fills up their gas tank when it reaches the half-way mark compared to those who wait until the "nearing empty" light is on and their tank is about 99% empty? Are those who fill up their tank once it reaches the half-way possibly more attentive, keep their home cleaner and more organized, their yard is in perfect shape, they work a steady nine-to-five job, earn a decent living, even to be considered affluent. Whereas someone who allows their tank to drain down to practically nothing tends to be more of a free spirit, seat-of-their pants. Maybe they are more creative, scuttleminded, heavy coffee drinkers, recipients of the popular ADHD diagnosis of the late 1990s, have difficulty sleeping and work at odd hours. Does the gas tank determine who might someday become the President of a country or a politician most likely to end up with a 20 year bid. If you were looking for a spouse and the only criteria you had to judge the person by was whether they filled up their tank at 50% or 90% who would you choose and why? It is an interesting question because that may give a psychologist some insight as well into the person being questioned. What kind of person wants to marry a half-a-tanker instead of an empty tanker. They may say why would I want someone so square as to have to fill up their damn tank at the half-way mark. "What a stupid waste of time!" But you then can take the angle of the person who fears the half-a-tanker as a horror feature snap shot of a guy like the one from American Psycho; everything too perfect, too organized, too regimented, too crazy. They need the person who will fill up the tank once it gets low but before it runs completely out. The kind of person who doesn't have to have all the dishes done before going to bed at night. The person who will wear the non-matching socks hidden beneath their suit pants. They want someone who will run out to the Shop Rite at 2 am., and pick up a bag of Cheetos without entering the calorie count into a spreadsheet.

Do you think age has any play in the determination? Were you the same at seventeen as you are now? Probably not though there are people who literally matured fully by seventeen and went out into the working world stuffed their bank account while you were still trying to figure it all out. They were filling up their gas tanks at the half-way mark while you are broken down on the side of the road. But most people mature over time and find their way in the world by at least 50 or become raging alcoholics. People are fascinating creatures if you take the time to observe them one day. Stop walking at moc-9 along the sidewalk trying to get to your lousy job on time, lean against a wall and look around. You'll notice that most people are rushing and hustling and bustling and honking and flipping fingers and pulling out shotguns while leaning out their windows with pulsating veins in their necks and foreheads for the same reason you are spilling coffee on your lap, on the verge of tears, depressed with a passenger seat full of shitty resumes printed with dime-store ink on bargain-basement paper as the rain pounds your beat-up junker with the yellow engine light that has been perpetually on for a month. Those busy healthy people who park in handicap spots or knock into you on a sidewalk wide enough for five cows, cutting you in line at Starbucks, most of them are on their way to the job where they are overworked and underpaid feeling like offing themselves, wishing they were Dr. Oz, just like you.

Everybody thinks that their own life is soooo important and for them it is and it should be. You should think your life is important and what you are striving to achieve will provide you with the security and happiness that you are so desperately dreaming about and seeking. But what you fail to reason into the equation are the small details of your so important life. Have you ever wondered why you are always filling up your tank, which is on empty, when you are in a rush? And while trying to get to the gas station with the screaming child in the backseat you catch every single red light and traffic is unbearably thick and people seem more interested in their smart phones then getting the hell out of your way. The details are the things that people make a great effort it seems to overlook. And you know it goes far beyond the gas tank. Once you leave the aerie you start to see the litany of small indicators as to who you are, why you are in the position in life you are, where you want to be and how you can get there. It might sound like poppycock but it actually has significant relevance. Do you go to the barber on a schedule or do you go when your hair starts to resemble a bird's nest? Are you working in a minimum wage job despite having a college degree or are you in a professional setting earning a decent wage? Those working minimum wage have followed similar patterns in their lives, and vise versa. If you don't believe me sit around with your co-workers and that includes the colored hair and nose piercing ones and ask them to tell you their stories. Other then upbringing you will see yourself in them and the same goes with the ones who "made it." Buildings are built from the ground up one brick at a time. You must never forget that fact when examining the details in your own life because you have to look at the smallest of details to understand some of the bigger ones.

I am a product of the minimum wage working world and spent my fair share of time within stepping distance of the gutter but I wanted something more and it took many years of early mornings, late nights and often seven days a week, hard, hard work to accrue the necessary skills to propel me from that brutish horror. Can you judge the direction of society by the condition of the people and the way they collectively think and act and vote? You sure can and it is as frightening as the moron who allows their gas tank run out on some deserted road in the middle of the desert and wonder why they are crawling along in the dust with parched throat, blistered lips and bloody fingers and knees. My mother once told me a story about her father, my grandfather who was as interesting a person as anyone you could meet on any unique street anywhere in the world. He was a man who would mow the lawn in a suit and a top hat, import cigarettes from England instead of purchasing a pack from the deli feet away from his building, and took his wife, my grandmother on their first date to a park bench and people watched for hours. In academia that would be a core course called How to live life 101. Tomorrow when you wake up or if you are sitting at your desk staring at "TPS" reports wondering what in the hell you are doing other than wasting away and waiting for your husband or wife to leave you for some schmuck with red corvette, take a look at your gas tank and figure yourself out.