I paid $37 for a gallon of gas

I'm an awful driver. Have I mentioned that? I am also not the sharpest crayon in the box. One of the most colorful for sure, but not the sharpest. And while I can usually determine which way is up (that's North!), I often get turned sideways and end up lost a teensy bit disoriented. Especially at night. On the maze of highways that make up the New Jersey Turnpike system, where the almighty Exit reigns supreme, because if you miss yours, you've got 25 miles until you reach the next one. So you might as well settle in for a bitch-fest. And yes, as a matter of fact, I do bitch myself out, smartass.

A detour started this entire chain of events, I will have you know. A simple detour, that took me far, far away from the rest stop that would have provided the fuel that would have prevented this latest craptastrophy in my life. I ran out of gas, ok? Sortof. Almost. I mean, I would have. Probably. Fuck.

The gas light was on, and the little display that tells you how much further you can travel before endgame was showing the dreaded "- - - -". I took a chance and took the first Exit I came to, in the hopes I would happen upon a gas station. Instead I happened upon a mass of brake lights up and over a bridge into oblivion. This? Sucked. I had no idea where I was, no idea how long that bridge was, nor how much longer I could go before other drivers were attacking my crippled vehicle for scrap metal. (NJ drivers are mean, okay? Seriously) 

I eased out of traffic behind some construction cones -- the cause of said traffic snarl -- and called for help. Turns out I was on the NJTP. Even though I had exited the turnpike, I was somehow still on the turnpike, on some super-secret major Interstate. Whatever. I gave up trying to understand road rules a long time ago.

Waited patiently for the NJTP Savior of the Highway to come find me, which surprisingly only took about 30 minutes. Kudos there, Turnpike Authority. So, my Hero takes about 5 minutes putting gas in the tank, and when he's finished, what the hell, it's still on "- - - -". (Translation: you're fucked!) Turns out you only get a gallon, which was more than enough to get me to safety except oh yeah the next rest stop is 25 miles away.  (Oh, and by the way, I don't ever want to hear you bitch about gas prices, because I paid $37 for that guy to come out and give me a gallon of gas. Ergo, that gallon of gas cost 37 bucks)

Fortunately my Hero was well-versed in the secrets of the turnpike, and told me I could find a gas station on the other side of the bridge to oblivion. Easing back into traffic, after 70 yards, I notice a sign. Casciano Bridge. Ah shit. Let the bitch-fest begin. Are you fucking kidding me?!? I know exactly where I am! I totally could have made it over the bridge without assistance! Motherfuckingsonofabitch!! I just paid 37 bucks and wasted 45 minutes on a fucking road I drive every goddam day!

          . . . and so-on and so-on, until I reached my Exit, 24.3 miles later.