Chapter 46 Highway Robbery

After calling Aunt Karen to report his plan, he drove the Volkswagen across America.

Ronald began to say goodbye to his good friends in Los Angeles, leaving their contact information for future contact.

First was Cameron, who was now half-living in the factory. He was directing a group of stunt model makers who were more experienced than him.

But judging from their expressions, they were pretty convinced. Cameron impressed them with his professional ability and dedication.

Ronald asked him for his address and phone number. However, people in the film industry often move or stay with the crew for a long time, so he had to ask for the address of his hometown so that he could connect with them if he lost contact.

"Oh, I didn't know you were Canadian." Ronald was surprised.

"Yes, my hometown is on the other side of Niagara Falls. It's very close to America."

Then it was Gale. She was still busy in the president's office as usual.

"Gale Anne Hurd... Palm Springs, California." Ronald also wrote down Gail's address.

He may have to stay in New York for four years, so this information will help him to keep contact with important old friends.

"Have you been to Palm Springs?" Gale asked him.

"I haven't been there yet, but I just know there are golf tournaments there."

"You're welcome to visit my home if you have the chance. All the best, Ronald."

Palm Springs is a famous holiday resort in California, an oasis in the desert with many springs and unique scenery. All the people who live there are rich.

"All the best, Gale. Mr. Corman is coming to the crew today. Please say goodbye to him for me." The two hugged and said goodbye to each other.

Then it was Demi Moore. This girl is a little unusual, maybe there will be a director who appreciates her.

Ronald didn't go to his boyfriend's apartment to meet her, but called her.

"Hi. Demi, this is Ronald. I'm moving to New York to go to college. Please leave me an address so we can keep in touch."

"Oh, Ronald, okay... West Hollywood." Demi Moore reported the address of her boyfriend's rented apartment.

"You know what? I'm writing songs for my boyfriend, Freddy, now. He said my lyrics are good. Maybe you'll hear my songs on the charts in the future."

"Really? I didn't expect you to have a knack for writing lyrics. Maybe I'll hear them on the radio in the future."

"Haha. Ronald, don't you want to be a director? Why don't you stay in Hollywood then go to New York? Are there people making movies there?"

"Yes, there are people making movies in New York. I'm going to study making film at New York University soon. I'll have a chance to come to Hollywood in the future."

"All the best, Ronald. Don't forget me when you become a director in the future."

"No, I won't forget, Demi. All the best for you too."

Then Ronald sold the TV and went to the post office to register the mail forwarding address for the next six months.

In the next six months, any mail sent to his rental address in Venice will be automatically forwarded by the post office to his aunt Karen's house in Staten.

Finally, after finishing the chores, Ronald took the cash and the promissory note, packed the luggage bag his aunt gave him, and prepared to leave the next day.

The luggage bag was a relic of his Uncle Steve, who died on the Vietnam battlefield. It was very sturdy. It can hold a lot of things, and can be carried in hand or on the back.

"Ding... Ding."

Ronald, who set off at 7 o'clock in the morning, queued at the gas station for half an hour, but the refueling line was still moving. He could only honk the horn and ask the brother in the car next to him.

"What's going on? Why is there such a long line at the gas station?"

"Today, we will implement the odd-even rationing for refueling. Today is the 15th, and only cars with odd numbers can refuel."

"Shit, I have an even number." Ronald cursed inwardly.

The political crisis in Iran was getting worse and worse. Demonstrations organized by various forces are happening one after another. Oil exports are stagnant, international oil prices are soaring, and the price of gasoline is also getting higher and higher.

Unexpectedly, California has already implemented odd-even restrictions for refueling. I heard from the guy next door that the government did this during the oil crisis in 1973.

Ronald is ready to turn the steering wheel around, find a hotel to stay for one night, and set off again tomorrow. "Hey, if you have extra money, there is a way to jump the queue." The brother next door secretly told Ronald.

"What can I do? I was planning to leave town today, so it would be great if I could refuel."

"As long as you buy a bottle of additive," the guy gave Ronald this choice.

It turned out that as early as the oil crisis six years ago, the then-president ordered a gasoline price limit. The American people have invented an unspoken rule.

If you need to jump the queue, you can drive in from the maintenance and repair entrance of the gas station, pretend to buy a bottle of gasoline additive, and the gas station will help you fill it up. It is a common practice for people to circumvent the price limit.

"Oh, thank you, man. But why don't you go?"

"Hey, a bottle of additive costs 5.9 dollars, and you have to tip the repairman."

Ronald knew that if it could be solved with money, it was not a big problem. Turning a corner and entering the maintenance entrance of the gas station.

"I'll buy a bottle of gasoline additive, and then help me fill up the tank," Ronald said, the lines taught by the guy.

'It works.' The repairman quickly took a bottle of additive and handed Ronald a separate refueling gun. They were all equipment prepared during the last oil crisis.

Ronald smiled and handed over a dollar tip.

"Where is the restroom? I'll go first."

After a while, Ronald came out of the restroom and saw the mechanic pouring additives into the fuel tank.

"Hey, hey, I don't need that, just refuel."

Perhaps the tip made the mechanic too enthusiastic, and he had already added all the additives.

Ronald, who had no time to stop him, took the gas gun and filled the tank himself.

"Why don't you add additives?" The mechanic asked with gestures.

"Hey, it turns out that you don't understand the unspoken rules even more than I do." Ronald saw the mechanic's childish face, and he turned out to be a Latino who spoke with a strong Spanish accent.

He waved his hand and stepped on the accelerator, drove the car out of the maintenance area, thanked the old man who pointed him out, and Ronald got on the road and drove forward.

This time, instead of taking Highway 40, Ronald planned to take the northern route to Yosemite National Park and see the style of the northern states.

Ronald turned onto Highway 1, a coastal highway with endless beautiful scenery along the way, including elephant seals and historic castles.

The most beautiful thing might be the beach, which is privately owned and is known as the most beautiful on the west coast of America.

Outside each luxury house, there are white sandy beaches. Some of them have horses pacing on them. Coupled with the charming hostesses, people will stop and take a look.

While driving and enjoying the scenery, Ronald drove very slowly without realizing it. He didn't drive 5 miles in half an hour. The next step was an uphill slope, and Ronald stepped on the accelerator.

The car began to pant and shake. He didn't know what happened. It seemed that something was wrong as it drove. Black smoke began to come out of the exhaust pipe.

Just as the car drove in front of a beach mansion, Ronald shouted to the hostess across the fence, "Madam! Is there a mechanic shop nearby?"

The hostess in a red one-piece swimsuit turned her head, with a frown on her face, expressing her dissatisfaction with Ronald calling her madam.

She raised her arm and pointed to a small side road across the road. Ronald quickly turned the steering wheel and slowly rubbed over in low gear.

"What did you add to the tank?" The young white mechanic asked Ronald.

"I've never filled anything other than gasoline... Oh, no, the gas station gave me a bottle of additive this morning."

"Additive? Is the bottle still there?"

"Yes," Ronald hurriedly found the empty bottle in the car, which still had some oil left in it.

"Diesel fuel use." The mechanic pointed to the words on the bottle and looked at Ronald, "This is for diesel."

"Shit, that bastard at the gas station must not know English."

The mechanic smelled the liquid again. "It doesn't seem to smell like a diesel additive. I don't know what's in it. This is an old bottle filled with other stuff."

Was this intentional? No wonder he added fuel to the tank while he was in the bathroom. What's the difference between that little bastard and those who spread nails on the ground for you to fix your tire? This is simply highway robbery.

"The combustion chamber is damaged, and the carbon deposits are a bit serious. I'm afraid it will require major surgery." The older mechanic next to him said, looking like the young man's father.

"How much time will it take, and how much will it cost?"

"This requires an extensive repair, and you have to wait in line for a day. It's not cheap, I'll charge you $300."

"$300? This is robbery. I only bought this car for $900."

The young mechanic shrugged, indicating that there was nothing he could do.

"Or you can sell this car to me and I'll charge you $400." The father mechanic said.

"500?"

"450."

"Okay, 450, but you have to send me back to Los Angeles."