Syphon Theory
by Zach Smith
Somewhere between
the United States and the United Kingdom a man
looked for his car in a parking lot. He found a
man crouched on the asphalt with a hose in his
mouth. The car he was crouched next to had the
fuel tank opened, jimmied by some nefarious
method not know. The other end of the hose was
stuck down through the open nozzle and into the
fuel tank.
“What the
hell are you doing?”
“I'm
syphoning out this jack ass’ gas,” said
the crouching man, with a mischievous laugh.
“That’s
my car.”
Gulp.
The crouching man
looked shocked and scared.
Neither man spoke
for a moment.
“Did you just
swallow the gas?”
“The what?”
The man tapped his
finger next to the opened gas door.
Oh, that, yeah we
call that ‘Petrol’ where I come from.”
“You just
called it gas a minute ago.”
“Shut up!”
“Hey now.”
“Wait a
minute, I just swallowed gas.”
“Yeah, I
thought you did.”
“Quick I need
chips.”
“Chips?”
“Yes,
potatoes, that’s what you’re supposed
to eat when you swallow gas.”
“Why?”
“How would I
know?”
“Well you’re
in luck, I got a bag in my car, hope you don’t
mind Sour Cream & Onion.”
“No no, not
crisps, chips, it’s… oh how you say…
French Fries.”
“French Fries?”
“Yes, there’s
a chip shop right down the street. You need to
take me.”
“Now wait a
minute.”
“There’s
no time.”
The man closed his
gas door, opened his car door and started his car.
The other man got up from the asphalt, opened the
passenger door and got into the car, stinking of
fumes.
While the man
pulled out of the parking lot his passenger
pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Fancy a fag
mate?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, a
cigarette.”
“Don’t
lite that in here.”
“Pansy,”
said the man under his breath.
“You just
bought your own chips.”
“Don’t
have any quid.”
“Somehow I'm
not surprised. Anyways you just swallowed gas…
petrol. You might blow yourself up.”
“That’s
true.”
At the chip shop
the man with the car purchased six orders of
chips and quick as a wink the man who has been
syphoning out his gas had eaten four of the
orders.
“Look man, I
bought you all these chips and you didn’t
even give me one.”
“I know mate,
I'm sorry, but you have to eat potatoes when you
drink gasoline.”
“You mean
petrol.”
“Can you pass
the catsup?”
“Here. Why
don’t you just eat potatoes?”
“Eh, too
bland.”
“Can I at
least get a fry?”
“Sorry,”
he said, tilting his head back and pouring the
last of the fries down his throat. “None
left.”
The man with the
car shook his head.
“Come on, I’ll
give you a ride back.”
The two unlikely
friends got back in the car. The smell of
gasoline had dissolved to only a subtle note
within the cabin. The key was turned and the
engine coughed a few times then quit all together.
In response the man banged his head against the
steering wheel.
“What’s
wrong?”
“Out of gas,”
he said. “You wouldn’t know anything
about that would you?”
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