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The Man Who Ran Out of Gas and The Peanut Farmer in Georgia

Darren Clisch

    A Prius with New York plates is parked on the side of the road.
    “God— Dam— Dammit!” cursed the man who ran out of gas.
    He looks standing outside of his car at a peanut farm, and a man leaning on a wooden fence post.
    “Hi,” said the man who ran out of gas.
    “Hello,” said the peanut farmer. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but what’s a city slicker doing in the country?”
    “Oh... I’m just out here looking for a country boy to call me a city slicker, I guess.”
    “Well, you found the right place.”
    “Sure did. I knew I found the spot because my car stopped for me.”
    “Ran out gas did ya,” said the peanut farmer.
    “Yeah, I see you have a farm here. Do you have any extra gas around that you could spare? I’ve been hearing all the way down here that country boys would give you the shirt of their back, so I couldn’t imagine a little gas would be a problem? Right?”
    “Well, for the right price I could spare a little,” said the peanut farmer.
    “The right price. What’s the right price?”
    “Oh— I don’t know, say sixty dollars.”
    “For how much?”
    “A gallon.”
    “A gallon!” exclaimed the man who ran out of gas.
    “Business is all about supply and demand. You’re in demand, and I have a supply. So, that’s that.”
    “I only have twenty dollars. For one gallon that’s approximately eight times the value.”
    “Yeah, that sounds right. But— the price is sixty. Final offer,” said the peanut farmer.
    The two men took a walk. The Peanut Farmer was kind enough to show him around the property. To show the man who ran out of gas how important his gas supply is, of course. They stood in a moment of silence next to an old, red barn.
    The man who ran out of gas squinted his eyes at something in the barn.
    “What’s that?” said the man who ran out of gas.
    “It’s an old poker table,” said the peanut farmer. “Its’ got a little history to it,” he said with a chuckle.
    “Yeah, you have a game every now and then.”
    “Nooo... not anymore. The wife doesn’t seem to think I’m cut out for it.”
    “Oh yeah, why’s that?”
    “Well, I was drinking one night and according to her I nearly bet the farm. Long story short— I lost a good tractor. After that, she told me there would be no more poker. So, it doesn’t get much use anymore.”
    The man who ran out of gas scratches his head a little.
    “What do you say? Me and you. A game of poker? I got twenty dollars to play with. How about you? I’m sure you gotta’ have money burning a hole in your pocket somewhere. If you do? You gotta’ think about it. It’s a win-win situation for you. I need to win forty dollars so I can get a gallon of gas, and you’re the one I have to buy it from. That’s the worst-case scenario. The best-case scenario you win my twenty bucks a I walk to the gas station and hope they accept credit cards.”
    “Hmm... Well, I haven’t played in a while and it seems like I can’t go wrong. Why don’t you help me pull the table out into the center of the barn.”
    The table is set up and ready to go. A little dusty, of course. The two played cards for a while. The man who ran out gas got the best of the peanut farmer.
    “I got the sixty bucks for gallon, what do ya say?”
    “I’ll go get a canister for you to carry it in, but when you’re done it stays here,” said the peanut farmer.
    “Fine by me,” replied the man who ran out of gas.
    The familiar screeching sound of door hinges echoed lightly through the afternoon humidity.
    “Hey, Baby,” said The peanut farmer’s wife.
    A beautiful, blonde, southern woman. The kind that takes your breath away. Not a piece of exercise equipment in the house, but a sculpted body nonetheless.
    “Yeah,” said the peanut farmer.
    “My parents are coming over tomorrow and I was thinking we’d have a turkey dinner like we did the last time.”
    “Okay,” replied the peanut farmer.
    “So, I’m gonna’ have to get to the store and pick up the turkey and the all the trimmings. It’s about forty dollars. You still got the money from yesterday, right?”
    “Just give me a second.”
    The peanut farmer’s wife had a look in her eyes. A questioning look. Just the way he said it she knew something had gone wrong. So, she had a conversation with him and he told his version of the story quietly in front of the man who ran out of gas.
    “Poker!” The peanut farmer’s wife yelled. “What did I tell you about that? You better take care of this or I will.”
    “Don’t worry. I got it figured out.”
    “That’s what you said the last time.”
    The man who ran out of gas saw his opportunity to get more than a gallon. He had a devious grin as the peanut farmer approached.
    “Well, I guess I’ll be takin’ that sixty dollars from ya’,” said the peanut farmer as he handed over a red one gallon canister of gas.
    “I was thinking I’d fill up my tank instead,” said the man who ran out of gas.
    “I thought we had a deal?”
    “Yeah, me too. But, I was thinking about that whole conversation about supply and demand. The one we had earlier. As it seems, I have supply that you have a demand for.”
    “Come on now. A deal is a deal.”
    “Things change.”
    “I can’t make that deal.”
    The two men bicker back and forth for a while. The peanuts farmer’s wife finally interrupts them.
    “Excuse me. You,” the peanut farmer’s wife says as she stares down at the man who ran out of gas. “What’s going on here?”
    And, to the dislike of the peanut farmer’s wife, the man who ran out of gas explained the whole story to her. To say the least she wasn’t happy. She knew the problem had to be solved, but she also knew they couldn’t afford to lose all that gas as it was essential for the farm. She knew she’d be the one who would have to solve the problem. She thought maybe she could reason with the man who ran out of gas, so she invited him into the house for a glass of sweet tea.
    After quite some time and a few noises that, well, the peanut farmer wanted to disregard or pass off as some sort field animal or insect. The man who ran out of gas came out of the house with a smile a country mile wide. His attitude was rather chipper compared to the first time he saw the peanut farmer. He waved goodbye to the peanut farmer and started walking down the road.
    “Where you goin’?” said the peanut farmer.
    “Heading to the gas station,” said the man who ran out of gas.
    The peanut farmer’s wife handed the peanut farmer forty dollars and sent him on his way to the grocery store. The peanut farmer drove by the man who ran out of gas who was whistling while he walked with an extra pep in his step. Needless to say, the peanut farmer didn’t stop and pick him up.
    As the story goes, the man who ran out gas solved his problem and continued on with his travels. And, as for the peanut farmer, he stayed up all night long breaking apart his old poker table, and then added it piece by piece to the fire until the coals were no longer red.

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