Eric Gilgenbach

Professor McLaughlin
Multimedia Writing & Rhetoric
11 September 2015
Roadside Assistance
I slouched in the chair of my dining room my work sanctuary. My cheek rested on my
palm as I stared blankly at the textbook in front of my face, my tired eyes overwhelmed at the
thousands of words to read and remember. Exam week was approaching, and stress had crept
inside me. My brain kept pulling me away from the task at hand. Was it that important that I
study tonight? Would I be fine just putting it off till the weekend? My attention drifted, and
drifted all the way back to that early-August day.
It was supposed to be your average, fun-filled day. I was taking a road trip with two of
my friends, Rachel and Federico, to a lake house about 3 hours north of home. We planned to
meet some others there. We left around noon that day and the drive was quite ordinary. Looking
out the windows of the passenger seat, I noticed the vast flatland that was northern Michigan. I
dont think I saw anything but cornfields for miles. If you could locate the middle of nowhere
on a map, we were there.
The day went by and Federico and I had all kinds of 16-year-old fun. You know, the kind
where you spend 8 hours on the beach with girls in bikinis. But the day wound down and
eventually we had to leave.
After saying our goodbyes around eleven thirty, Federico and I hopped into his red, Ford
Fusion, fist-bumped to a good day, and backed out of the driveway. He looked over at me. Uhh,
I think we should get some gas. There was a station back where we ate dinner. There was a

decision to be made here. The gas station he mentioned was about 3 miles in the opposite
direction of home. I looked past the wheel and saw the dial sit slightly below the quarter tank
marker. Going through the math in my head, I calculated that we shouldve been able to get at
least 50 miles out of what was left.
I responded, Yeah, we could. But odds are well hit a gas station soon enough in this
direction. He agreed with me.
Yeah, were already late as it is. And off we went. It wasnt within 10 minutes that
Federico realized that he had forgotten his phone in our friends car, who had left the house two
hours before us. The fuel dial on the dash had turned a few degrees towards the dreaded E. I
tensed up a bit at the thought of running out of gas, but before I could worry too much, we
spotted a Speedway in the distance. We pulled up next to the pump. I sat playing with my phone
while I waited for Federico to fill up. I was frustrated, though, because I couldnt get any service.
Even when I did the trusty lift your phone up in the air a few feet. Not only that but I was in
the red zone. 8 percent battery left Federico then popped his head back in the car, claiming that
the gas was not working. I hopped out of the car and we walked to the front door to ask for help.
But, it was locked. My heart dropped. We knocked and were able to get the attention of a woman
that was cleaning up. Since she couldnt hear us, we gave the universal sign for We are almost
out of gas and we have no way to contact anyone if we run out. She must not have had very
good eyesight because she looked at us in confusion. She opened the door and we explained our
dilemma.
Guys, we close at twelve so I cant help you with anything. Un-be-lievable. I looked up
at the clock in the store and it read 12:01. This woman was the devil. Sympathetically, she did
point us in the direction of the next nearest gas station. We were thankful at the time, until we

followed her directions and didnt arrive at squat. So we kept on driving, and to no end. Not a
gas station in sight, just more and more damn cornfields. Fear raced through my mind. Not
helping the cause, I recalled every horror film that I had ever seen involving a car breaking
down. A loud ring abruptly cut off my thoughts. Ting, ting, ting. I slowly looked to my left to
see the dash blink brightly with the words Fuel tank low. It was the end of us.
The only civilization around was an occasional house where one would suspect a serial
killer would live. We debated whether to pull over at one of these houses to ask for help. But
then again, how often do people come knocking on your door at 12:30 A.M. Most likely, that
option would lead to us staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun. So that was an obvious no.
We kept on the road, anticipating the car to stop moving at any time. Finally, we saw
another gas station! We pulled in and put the pump in the car as quickly as possible. Nothing
Not a drop. Frustration ran through me. Why in the HELL do all gas stations close at twelve!
This pattern of empty clicks went on and on. Before I knew it, Federico and I were singing an
incredibly harmonized duet of Jesus Take the Wheel. It was near one-thirty when we saw our
last chance. Some local gas station gleamed ahead of us under its lights. This one felt different,
though. There was a sort of warm, cozy feeling about it. This was the one. We arrived and
Federico, one last time stuck the pump in the side of the car. We waited. The numbers ran up!
Federico and I burst into an adrenaline rush I had never experienced before in my life. I sprinted
circles in the road, screaming in joy. Federico ran up to me and we hugged each other knowing
that we were going to make it.
With the end of the memory, I snapped back into the present. My eyes were still glaring
over the hefty textbook, no longer overwhelmed, but motivated. This was not going to be one of
those hopefully moments. There was no risk taking here, only preparation. I dove back into the

chapters that would lead me to a successful exam week. Being stuck roadside in the middle of
the test was not an option.