A reality television star known for her explosive personality found herself in a desperate fight for survival Wednesday evening after her customized amphibious vehicle ran out of fuel in the middle of a busy shipping channel, prompting a frantic social media plea that included screams of “sharks” and a dramatic rescue by local law enforcement.

Tommie Lee, whose real name is Tommie Barbie Williams, was piloting her white Amphicar—a vintage convertible that can drive on land and float on water—when she became stranded off the coast near the Hilton hotel in what she described as “the middle of the ocean.” The incident unfolded rapidly and was broadcast live through a series of Instagram videos that captured her escalating panic as daylight faded.
In the first clip, Lee is seen sitting alone in the small vehicle, bobbing in choppy waters. “I ran out of gas. Please let this man come back,” she said, her voice trembling.
She explained that she had checked the fuel level before departing but got lost and eventually stalled. “I’m stuck in the middle of the ocean. Um, if anything happens, guys, this is this is what happened.”
Lee said she had been invited to join friends on a yacht earlier in the day but experienced mechanical issues before launching. Her friends reportedly left her behind and went to a restaurant, leaving her to navigate the water alone. “I was trying to make it to them and then this happened,” she said, before unleashing a piercing scream for help.
As the minutes ticked by, Lee’s desperation grew. She spotted a passing boat and screamed again, but the vessel continued without stopping. “Why me?
Gosh. Why? Why?
Why me?” she cried. With the sun setting and the water turning dark, she activated the Amphicar’s headlights and began praying aloud.
“Please God, let this boy come back. Please let him come back.”
A man on a jet ski had stopped earlier and promised to retrieve gas, but he vanished for nearly an hour. Lee grew increasingly convinced she would not survive. “I would never again by myself.
Never ever again,” she sobbed. “This is not my friends because they would have came and got me.”
Then came the moment that sent her into a full-blown panic. A voice off-camera—likely someone watching her live stream—shouted, “Sharks.” Lee immediately began scanning the water around her.
“Sharks,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “Please don’t do not say no s** like that to make a panic. Like, come on, bro.”
Despite her terror, she continued to broadcast, alternating between sobbing, cursing her absent friends, and pleading with anyone within earshot. At one point she yelled, “I’m about to go crazy,” before screaming incoherently. The audio captured the sound of water lapping against the hull and distant boat engines.
Lee, who rose to fame on the VH1 series Love & Hip Hop: Hollywood, has a history of legal troubles and public outbursts, but this incident appeared to be a genuine survival situation. Several of her followers contacted authorities after watching the live videos. “I don’t know where SHE AT,” one voice can be heard in the background of the stream.
Just after 8:30 p. m. , a siren wailed in the distance.
“Damn it. It’s the police,” Lee said. Officers from a nearby marine patrol unit arrived in a rigid-hulled inflatable boat.
They approached cautiously, noting that the entire area was a security zone. “We were coming over to see what’s going on,” an officer said.
Lee explained her predicament and mentioned the stranger on the jet ski who had gone for gas. The officers did not have fuel but offered to tow her to safety. “Please, sir.
I’m so scared. It’s just me,” she said, breaking down in tears. One officer reassured her, “It’s all right.
We can help you out.”
During the rescue, Lee hesitated to step onto the police boat. “No. Would I get on a boat with them?”
she asked aloud, still broadcasting. The officers calmly attached a tow line and instructed her to turn off the Amphicar’s battery. “This will actually help the boat a little bit,” one said.
The towing operation proceeded without incident. Lee kept her phone rolling, capturing the moment the police boat pulled her vehicle toward shore. “I never went through nothing like this before in my life,” she said, her voice now a mix of relief and exhaustion.
Once safely back on land, Lee thanked her followers and the officers who responded. The full ordeal lasted nearly two hours. Authorities later stated that no charges were filed, but they reminded the public that operating an Amphicar in open water requires careful planning, including carrying extra fuel, a marine radio, and a personal locator beacon.
Lee’s Amphicar, a rare 1960s model, was not damaged. She later posted a follow-up video saying she would never venture onto the water alone again. “I hate people,” she said, referring to the friends who left her behind.
“And they just left me and I’m a Gilligan Island.”
The incident has sparked debate on social media about the risks of influencer culture and the pressure to document dangerous moments in real time. Many praised Lee for her raw honesty, while others criticized her for jeopardizing her safety for content. But for Tommie Lee, the lesson was clear: the ocean is unforgiving, and even the most confident navigator can find themselves screaming for help.
As of Thursday morning, the Amphicar remained parked at a local marina. Lee has not announced any plans to retire the vehicle, but she did joke that she might install a shark cage next time. “No games being played,” she said in her final video.
“Look at this. Noing games being played.”
The Miami-Dade Police Department’s Marine Patrol unit has not released a formal statement, but a spokesperson confirmed that no injuries occurred and that the situation was resolved peacefully. The search for the Good Samaritan on the jet ski continues; Lee said she hopes to thank him personally.
This breaking story serves as a stark reminder that the line between a leisurely drive and a life-threatening emergency can vanish as quickly as a tank of gas in an open sea.


