Travelling on I-64 through southern Indiana and Illinois, it seemed like a good idea to wait until the next exit to fill up. Well, there's a long way between some of those exits. I ran out of gas going up the exit ramp in Burnt Prairie, IL.
I walked over to the gas station, bought a gas can and gas, and was ready to set out again when an Illinois state trooper pulled up to inquire whether it was my car on the exit ramp.
After he checked my driver's license and such, he drove me over to my car. He wound up ferrying me back and forth until I had put 3 gallons of gas in, and my car finally started.
The funny part was that at the beginning of each of the five rides in his squad car, he'd call in the time, his mileage, and what he was doing. However, I wasn't "Mr. Marshall," "David," or even "I-Ran-Out-of-Gas Boy." In each status update, I was "the Marshall subject." "Taking the Marshall subject back to his car," "taking the Marshall subject back to the gas station," and so on.