Ilsa, Harem Keeper of the Gasoline Sheik

You guessed it. There's another Ilsa movie. Ain't the IMDb great?

So we wait in the Burger King. I call my mom, who has expected us in Metairie by now. All of us are road-weary. She helps me see the unreasonableness of it all and suggests that we get a room for the night and to get U-Haul off their sorry, lazy, asses and get their acts in gear. (If you know my mom, this isn't the sort of thing she'd say. But the spirit rings true.)

More back and forth with script-reading Latina drones of customer service entails. We eventually somehow get connected to talk to the mechanic directly, who lets Roxy know that he's been driving around the Burger King, looking for a U-Haul. Somehow, the fact that the damn thing was broken down by the side of the road didn't make it into the dispatch. At this point, nothing is surprising. We clarify where the beast is hiding and arrange to meet him there shortly. A nice Crowley, LA family asks us if we have someone picking us up, as they've heard a good deal of the saga. Luckily, there's still the minivan.

When we get to the LZ, we see a van parked nearby. At first, we rejoice, as we think it's the mechanic. But no, it's some suspicious looking character who we think was trying to either boost the vehicle or siphon some gas. Our presence chases him off and we wait. The next person who stops by appears to actually be a good Samaritan and asks us if we need help. We tell them the nickel version ("The mechanic is on his way"), and they leave. Finally, the mechanic arrives.

Milton is great. He quickly diagnoses that we ARE OUT OF GAS.

He lets us know that we should only be expecting six miles per gallon. Empty.
He lets us know to expect four mpg loaded.
He lets us know that although we have a sixty gallon tank, the suction hose is such that we can only get fifty gallons.
He lets us know to judge the tank based on either a dipstick or by calculating mileage traveled.
He lets us know that a sudden lack of response is normal for this truck when running out of gas.
He lets us know that no engine sounds are right and correct for such a truck with no gas.

"Now," says Milton, "We need to get yall some gas."

"We've got gas in the truck!" we shout.

The look on his face was priceless. I know that he's somehow going to cadge drinks off this story for some time- "And then they says to me they already GOT gaas! Hee, hee!" I knew that we should bring gasoline for this trip. I knew to have it on hand, knowing the total lack of infrastructure in New Orleans. It never occurred to me that the vile orange lorry needed a drink to maintain her evil.

Once we filled her up with five gallons, it was a cinch to make it the mile up the I-10 and fill her up with gas. Now, for the rest of the trip, we learned that when the needle got to half-full, we would be out of gas. So once again, the three-quarter rule came into effect- we filled up when the gauge showed three quarters of a tank, regardless of the reality. We also carried a dipstick to test the level of gasoline.

And made it safely to my mom's house a little after midnight. The whole trip took some fourteen-plus hours.