I don’t know where to even begin with this. . .
Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly where to begin.
It begins at about 9 AM with a big-ass-freakin’ semi truck that decides to change lanes without signaling. This would have been rather uneventful, except for the fact that I was changing lanes at the same time, after having used my turn signal, as God and Man have decreed is necessary in the righteous path of Not Being An Asshole.
As I rather like my current station on this mortal coil, I hit the gas immediately upon seeing the hurling metal contraption of doom coming up behind me at a most uncomfortable speed. When I hit the gas, I hear a very faint clunk. As it is an exceedingly faint and not-at-all alarming sound, I figure that something fell in my backseat.
About twenty-five second later, I am quickly disavowed of that notion as I realize that, despite the fact my foot is on the gas, the car is slowing down.
Quoth the Angel: “Fuck.”
I barely manage to get my car onto the shoulder–no mean feat seeing as the power steering is dying. After a moment, I try to start it. The car makes what is, in my professional, twenty-two year-old girl opinion, a Very Bad Noise.
I call, in order:
My father-in-law, who is good with cars, and tells me it’s not a simple thing, and to call AAA.
AAA, who says a tow truck will be there in 60 minutes.
My husband, who is at work, but is going to try to take off to come to my aid.
The following sequence of events is greatly shortened, as, after my recent experience, I am more keenly aware of the passage of time.
AAA calls back half an hour later, and says that it’s going to be 90 minutes. My husband calls and says he’ll be leaving work in 45 minutes, as soon as the other manager comes in. 90 minutes pass. The tow truck company calls and says it’s going to be another 60 minutes. My husband leaves work.
At this point, I’m considering whipping out my Big Flaming Sword of Doom and smiting AAA. However, as this is Tuesday of last week in Illinois, a large wand of flame is just about the last thing that I need. I’m already starting to feel kind-of crappy from the heat. This isn’t exactly helped by the fact that I’m wearing a pair of dark pants and a turtleneck, but I was dressing for work. I wasn’t dressing for a roadside stint.
So, while I’m annoyed at AAA, the tow truck company, Ford, and the semi, I take solace in the fact that my husband, He-Who-Makes-Things-Right-And-Giver-Of-Hugs, is riding in his white car to my rescue. And then, the big one, the major, oh-my-God, this sucks moment. The kind that’s both incredibly unlikely, and amazingly predictable in hindsight.
His car dies. About twenty miles from mine. And it won’t start, either.
After being understanding over the phone, and hanging up, I let out a stream of obscenities most unbecoming for one of my station. About 90 minutes after the phone call that said it would be 60 minutes, the cursedly-late-but-blessedly-air-conditioned tow truck arrives. Meanwhile, my husband’s parents are coming to tow his car.
Damage report:
My car is making what my husband calls “broken metal noises,” and what I am calling, “Satan’s version of Stomp”. He suspects that I threw/broke a rode, and/or bent a valve (actual diagnosis pending looking at the inside of my engine).
His car lost the water pump, which caused the timing belt to slip, which probably caused the pistons to jam into the things-above-the-pistons. It sounded much more impressive when he said it.
So, in no particular order. . .
AAA, the towing company, my car, his car, Ford, Dodge, the semi truck, and myself can all kiss my shiny metal ass. Which, in my case, is going to take a lot of miraculous flexibility.
Oh. . .and anyone know of a good, reliable, cheap used car? Tips? Guidelines?