Dont be Fuel-lish aka Gambling with the odometer

Recently, on the long weekend of Memorial-day, we made a trip to the Oregon coast. It was two-and-a-half days of sedate bliss in a quaint town called Cannon beach. Two-and-a-half days away from home in a quiet oceanside town, at a gorgeous inn property right on the beach. Two-and-a-half days of sun and sand and plenty of fresh air to relax. He, of course describes it as one of the most geriatric trips he's been on, simply because it lacked thrill, mind-numbing excitement and psychedelic nightclub lights. But that's another story for another time.

I reserved a modest economy car online prior to the trip to get us to Cannon Beach from Portland International Airport (PDX) and so that we could get around the town. While at the Hertz car rental counter at PDX on our arrival on Friday night, he decided to get the car on full fuel, because fuel rate offered was cheaper than the city. We got a Saturn 4-dr, dont remember the model, but this clearly wasnt the most fuel efficient car available.

Anyway, we drove to Cannon beach (about 2 hours from PDX). When we got to the destination we drove the car everywhere - to the beach, to dinner spots in the downtown, to another small town (about an hour away from Cannon Beach), and everywhere else we needed to go.

Now, on Monday afternoon, when it was time to leave, we started our drive back to the PDX. About halfway to our destination, I glanced at the odometer and noticed that the fuel level had almost dropped to the nearly-gone mark. Now, I admit that I'm somewhat of a fuddy-duddy. I like setting the alarm to 15 minutes prior to my actual wake-up time, I get to the airport a good 2 hours before boarding time, I make checklists for everything. In the same vein, I like getting fuelled up as soon as I reach the halfway mark on the fuel indicator. Cant say the same for him AT ALL. I think he gets a kick out of challenging fate and showing it the proverbial middle-finger by taking frivolous risks. Kinky as hell, but I've stopped complaining.

So, I gently/breezily warned him of the situation, trying not to be a nag about it. I mean, with the GPS showing 23 or so miles to the airport, it was obvious he would do something about it. But he refused to get refuelled. At first, I thought he was joking. But he was quite determined. To him, handing over a vehicle with a couple of ounces of fuel leftover meant allowing the eff-ing rental car company to eff him, which was unthinkable. So we keep going and my anxiety and uneasiness keep building. We are now 17 miles from the airport and this is what the fuel indicator looks like (I took the pictures on my cellphone, so they're not the best resolution):

My brave warrior of stupidville just kept going with a singular promise - he vowed to get us to the car rental drop-off location, without refuelling. And after 20 minutes of crossing my fingers so tight they hurt and praying to every known deity, we arrived at the rental drop-off and I exhaled. I turned to my left and looked at him and his eyes were lit up with a victorious grin as he smirked at the fuel indicator. Another feather in his cap-of-reckless-cockiness. Never a dull moment, I swear.