Everyone who ever drove a commercial ambulance has experienced the castigation relating to fuel consumption, especially if that car was a Caddy. "Keep your fat foot out of the firewall" is about as polite as the lecture ever got, followed by "The hearses are just as heavy, and they burn less gas per mile". I'd been able to go nearly 3 weeks without shaving after I pointed out Hearses didn't stop at intersections because hearses had escorts" one day when Junior flamed out in my face. OK, obviously Junior eschewed logic being introduced to one of his theorys. I could work with that. I retreated to the contemplation room of the barn and pondered. I was failing the company, and it was my duty to remediate my failures in fuel mileage.
We'd learned the previous winter that adding water to the gasoline because the underground tank accumulated water wasn't an acceptable way to increase mileage by expanding gallons in the tank wasn't good. It was especially not good when the company tow truck pulling a car with a frozen fuel system back to the barn locked up stopped at a red light, and it was poor company image riding into the Emergency Entrance of St Marys backwards and having to wait for the towtruck to disconnect from the car to unload the patient. (Now those of you wondering why the towtruck had siren and reds know.) That problem went away when we fueled at commercial stations, and the fuel company loaned George an above ground tank till the problem could be resolved, but I was failing and I needed to remedy that myself, or I'd go to the bottom of the wheel.
Contemplation brought me recall, a month or two before I'd hauled a patient who tried to become one with a huge printing press at one of the commercial printers in town after the Fire goons demolished the machine around him and freed his arm. I recalled having to air the car out after that trip because it stunk like the gurney had been soaked in gasoline. One of the Printers had even cautioned against smoking in the car for a while after we dropped the patient. I also remembered the printing place had a big tank marked Waste Solvent. I was smelling potential. I made a little side trip over to the printing place and asked some questions of the worker bees there. They swore the solvent was better than HiTest gas, and one even told me he added it to his car, but only after filtering it. I could have all I wanted, just bring my own container and remember to filter the crap or buy a lot of fuel filters because it would plug those bronze things on a Rochester carb. I could do all of that easily, I drove a pickup. I even figured if I siphoned from the top of the tank there would be less solids. I would improve my fuel performence.
Being a cautious person I damn well wasn't going to test the idea on my pickup though. I even wrote down the label information on a barrel of fresh solvent, and made a trip to the Library to look it up. Holy crap, this juice was a misbegotten child of breeding Dynamite with rocket fuel. I figured it lost some of its potency cleaning printing equipment. It also occurred to me the Speedy Drycleaning plant always stunk too, and they were fanatics about not allowing employees to smoke. The Library really lacked information I needed, but the guys in labcoats at the U of R made it completely clear I was in dangerous territory when I asked over there. With 20 gallons of drycleaning juice and 10 of printing solvent, I mixed up a batch of liquid gold. There were no CCTV cameras back then, so while I checked my car for the night and spiffed up the interior, I added a gallon of liquid gold to the tank before fueling up. It was mandated drivers fuel the car at half tank.
Coming back to work the next day the driver who ran my car for the day shift asked if the mechanic had put new plugs in and tuned the ride? Not that I knew about, why did he ask? He swore the pig was running better and had superior get up and go. OK, I'll see what it does. I checked the mileage and knew he had only added about 4 gallons of gas at end of shift. On my first run I did note the green monster was breathing fire leaving intersections, and I kept my foot out of the firewall with a patient aboard. I was doing my best to lower my fuel use. Two weeks later I was summoned to the office where Junior informed me he was proud of my improvement since we had our little talk. I thanked him. I also explained I'd been reading a book on interacting with my surroundings to maximum potential and watched his eyes glaze over. He knew I'd read damn near anything if I could get it free. He didn't know I picked up textbooks over at the UofR when rich kids flung them at end of semester, and resold them to incoming classes. I also changed to only dumping liquid gold into the car at the beginning of shift when I was going to drive it. There was no point to giving my competition help in the Driver of the month competition.
Steve who rode with me despised Junior with a passion usually only seen in a woman entering Divorce Court, and wouldn't give information up if his fingernails were ripped out, even so I took the precaution of stashing the liquid gold away from the barn. Steve asked me why I was adding a gallon of gas from a can so I told him I was sandbagging the fuel mileage contest with farm gas that only cost me a quarter a gallon to save ass chewings. He could and did work with that. About 3 weeks in the day guys had a no start on the car leaving Northside Hospital and it was towed in. The mechanic changed the fuel filter on the Rochester, and the car went back to running well. The mechanic took an ass chewing for the filter plugging, it should have been changed, and Junior poured over fleet fuel mileage numbers. He climbed on the mechanic's ass to change fuel filters and spark plugs on a mileage based schedule, and the mechanic walked off the job. I pondered increasing the liquid gold ratio. Junior's meticulous records indicated one car in the fleet was nearly a mile per gallon ahead of the fleet on fuel mileage, and I was again summoned to the office for a talk. I explained I had managed to get in tune with the car, and evidently that increased mileage. Junior moved me to a newer Caddy to see what happened. Oddly, I managed to get into tune with the new ride, and fuel mileage on my old ride went downhill. Steve was giving me strange looks though as I wired a 4x4 pad over the spout of my stashed fuel can before pouring.
Junior had the bookkeeper double check the fleet fuel mileage numbers before opening his mouth and looking the fool he was before he mentioned the phenomenon to George. He was probably on thin ice and looking forward to a career at a Caravel stand. The car I drove consistently almost achieved the fuel use the hearses and flower car got. Junior called around to people who would talk to him and learned there were studies showing men and machines could achieve some sort of interactivity leading to enhanced efficiency. He made notes. He planned to present his findings to George, probably after asking mom to alert him when George was in a good mood. Junior even took the car I was driving for a test drive, got himself a speeding ticket, and decided the car really did move. Later that day, the car came back to the barn on the hook with a fuel filter problem. Junior gave the new mechanic 5 bucks to change the filter without logging it. He went back to his sheet of figures to calculate the cost of fuel filters against fuel mileage. The new mechanic told Junior maybe I was tweaking the quadrijet, and I got to attend a conference in the office where I swore I only went under the hood to check the oil, brake fluid and power steering fluid. I was forbidden to do that from then on, and that was fine with me.
I won the monthly fuel economy piece of paper for the second month in a row, and Junior made his presentation to George. Junior assured George I had achieved a mind meld with the car I drove, and he wanted me to teach the other drivers how to do it. George left the office and asked Jimmar, who was a Registered Nurse, if there was any medical test that might prove he hadn't sired Junior? Jimmar assured George there was none he knew of, although a blood test might get George part way home. When I got to work there was a message slip to call George at home.
We'd learned the previous winter that adding water to the gasoline because the underground tank accumulated water wasn't an acceptable way to increase mileage by expanding gallons in the tank wasn't good. It was especially not good when the company tow truck pulling a car with a frozen fuel system back to the barn locked up stopped at a red light, and it was poor company image riding into the Emergency Entrance of St Marys backwards and having to wait for the towtruck to disconnect from the car to unload the patient. (Now those of you wondering why the towtruck had siren and reds know.) That problem went away when we fueled at commercial stations, and the fuel company loaned George an above ground tank till the problem could be resolved, but I was failing and I needed to remedy that myself, or I'd go to the bottom of the wheel.
Contemplation brought me recall, a month or two before I'd hauled a patient who tried to become one with a huge printing press at one of the commercial printers in town after the Fire goons demolished the machine around him and freed his arm. I recalled having to air the car out after that trip because it stunk like the gurney had been soaked in gasoline. One of the Printers had even cautioned against smoking in the car for a while after we dropped the patient. I also remembered the printing place had a big tank marked Waste Solvent. I was smelling potential. I made a little side trip over to the printing place and asked some questions of the worker bees there. They swore the solvent was better than HiTest gas, and one even told me he added it to his car, but only after filtering it. I could have all I wanted, just bring my own container and remember to filter the crap or buy a lot of fuel filters because it would plug those bronze things on a Rochester carb. I could do all of that easily, I drove a pickup. I even figured if I siphoned from the top of the tank there would be less solids. I would improve my fuel performence.
Being a cautious person I damn well wasn't going to test the idea on my pickup though. I even wrote down the label information on a barrel of fresh solvent, and made a trip to the Library to look it up. Holy crap, this juice was a misbegotten child of breeding Dynamite with rocket fuel. I figured it lost some of its potency cleaning printing equipment. It also occurred to me the Speedy Drycleaning plant always stunk too, and they were fanatics about not allowing employees to smoke. The Library really lacked information I needed, but the guys in labcoats at the U of R made it completely clear I was in dangerous territory when I asked over there. With 20 gallons of drycleaning juice and 10 of printing solvent, I mixed up a batch of liquid gold. There were no CCTV cameras back then, so while I checked my car for the night and spiffed up the interior, I added a gallon of liquid gold to the tank before fueling up. It was mandated drivers fuel the car at half tank.
Coming back to work the next day the driver who ran my car for the day shift asked if the mechanic had put new plugs in and tuned the ride? Not that I knew about, why did he ask? He swore the pig was running better and had superior get up and go. OK, I'll see what it does. I checked the mileage and knew he had only added about 4 gallons of gas at end of shift. On my first run I did note the green monster was breathing fire leaving intersections, and I kept my foot out of the firewall with a patient aboard. I was doing my best to lower my fuel use. Two weeks later I was summoned to the office where Junior informed me he was proud of my improvement since we had our little talk. I thanked him. I also explained I'd been reading a book on interacting with my surroundings to maximum potential and watched his eyes glaze over. He knew I'd read damn near anything if I could get it free. He didn't know I picked up textbooks over at the UofR when rich kids flung them at end of semester, and resold them to incoming classes. I also changed to only dumping liquid gold into the car at the beginning of shift when I was going to drive it. There was no point to giving my competition help in the Driver of the month competition.
Steve who rode with me despised Junior with a passion usually only seen in a woman entering Divorce Court, and wouldn't give information up if his fingernails were ripped out, even so I took the precaution of stashing the liquid gold away from the barn. Steve asked me why I was adding a gallon of gas from a can so I told him I was sandbagging the fuel mileage contest with farm gas that only cost me a quarter a gallon to save ass chewings. He could and did work with that. About 3 weeks in the day guys had a no start on the car leaving Northside Hospital and it was towed in. The mechanic changed the fuel filter on the Rochester, and the car went back to running well. The mechanic took an ass chewing for the filter plugging, it should have been changed, and Junior poured over fleet fuel mileage numbers. He climbed on the mechanic's ass to change fuel filters and spark plugs on a mileage based schedule, and the mechanic walked off the job. I pondered increasing the liquid gold ratio. Junior's meticulous records indicated one car in the fleet was nearly a mile per gallon ahead of the fleet on fuel mileage, and I was again summoned to the office for a talk. I explained I had managed to get in tune with the car, and evidently that increased mileage. Junior moved me to a newer Caddy to see what happened. Oddly, I managed to get into tune with the new ride, and fuel mileage on my old ride went downhill. Steve was giving me strange looks though as I wired a 4x4 pad over the spout of my stashed fuel can before pouring.
Junior had the bookkeeper double check the fleet fuel mileage numbers before opening his mouth and looking the fool he was before he mentioned the phenomenon to George. He was probably on thin ice and looking forward to a career at a Caravel stand. The car I drove consistently almost achieved the fuel use the hearses and flower car got. Junior called around to people who would talk to him and learned there were studies showing men and machines could achieve some sort of interactivity leading to enhanced efficiency. He made notes. He planned to present his findings to George, probably after asking mom to alert him when George was in a good mood. Junior even took the car I was driving for a test drive, got himself a speeding ticket, and decided the car really did move. Later that day, the car came back to the barn on the hook with a fuel filter problem. Junior gave the new mechanic 5 bucks to change the filter without logging it. He went back to his sheet of figures to calculate the cost of fuel filters against fuel mileage. The new mechanic told Junior maybe I was tweaking the quadrijet, and I got to attend a conference in the office where I swore I only went under the hood to check the oil, brake fluid and power steering fluid. I was forbidden to do that from then on, and that was fine with me.
I won the monthly fuel economy piece of paper for the second month in a row, and Junior made his presentation to George. Junior assured George I had achieved a mind meld with the car I drove, and he wanted me to teach the other drivers how to do it. George left the office and asked Jimmar, who was a Registered Nurse, if there was any medical test that might prove he hadn't sired Junior? Jimmar assured George there was none he knew of, although a blood test might get George part way home. When I got to work there was a message slip to call George at home.