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Headed to work in my Brick through rural western Jersey at 4:30 a.m. this morning with absolutely no gas. The gas station I was planning to stop at was for some reason closed. I don't trust my gauges that much, but if I trust any gauge in the Brick, the gas gauge is the one I trust. It was deep in the red, on the bottom of it. I had to either turn back and try to make it home (about 10 miles) or try another station about 15 miles up the road. I went for the station. It was pitch black outside. Halfway there, I hit a police roadblock which said "Road Closed, Downed Electric Wire." But since there were no cops there, and no cars around, I drove around the roadblock. Then I saw the wire across the road, surrounded by cones. It came down on the left side, and came across the road diagaonally.
I did a couple of dips in and out, trying to get past it without rolling over it, then said the heck with it. I paused a few seconds, then buried the gas and just drove over the damn wire. Was I screaming when I drove over it? Damn right I was! I sounded like Michael Jackson. But I made it! Filled up with 11.9 gallons maybe four miles later.
So the question here, and I've posed this question in the past to all my Brick Brothers throughout the world and the Universe, past and present -- and Pageda has provided a fine answer to this question previously ("Your mom wanted to torture you,"), I herewith pose it again: Why am I not dead?
If the wire has juice running through it, presumably, why wasn't I fried like toast? I'll never try that again, by the way.
Thanks,
Cuddy
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