You won't believe it. I'm not sure I do. It will be funny to me one day, I've been assured through the giggly tears and breath-catching sighs, and aching bellies of those who already know. Go ahead and laugh. It's a doozy.
I met a girlfriend for dinner in Delaware. We had a GREAT time. We said our goodnights and I headed home. Ten o'clock; not bad. I should be home by eleven. I called Cheech and was on my way.
I got lost. I don't know how. I don't know where....I was lost. Now, for most of you this comes as no surprise. It is a wonder how I get to and from work each day. My world was complete and full when I was introduced to Reggie; my GPS. He understands me, my lack of direction, my "lost"-ness. But alas poor Reginald...he bit the big one and I am in GPS limbo. My partner loaned his to me. It should have worked. I should have been okay. Should is the operative word. I wasn't. To put this into perspective for my Jersey friends; I came home from Delaware across the Betsy Ross Bridge. Think about it....It's kind of like getting to Las Vegas via Niagra Falls. I shouldn't be able to do that. Shouldn't but it was. Since this is very typical for me, I called my husband and he redirected me. My loaner GPS was so ticked off that she wouldn't even speak. Grrreat. As I was on the phone, I heard a thumping, a rumbling. I remarked about it but was too busy being lost. Did I mention it was raining? The time now is eleven o'clock. My knight in Blackberry armor has me in his sights. I'm almost there and I say "I'll see you soon. Love you." -click
Demons of the night attack me. I have a blowout. A complete blow out: not a flat tire. Nope THAT'S what I was riding on during my many interstate misadventures. I feel this..."WHaBUMP" a thick bounce as all of the rubber frees itself from the rim. I must have looked like scene from COPS; sparks ...Oh yes. I was a pretty little Pontiac sparkler. I pull in to a gas station. It's closed. It's midnight. Of COURSE it's closed.
I call AAA and am pretty certain it went something like this:
-Triple A. How can I help you?
- BWAAAAAA! uh-huh-fl-fff-ouuuuuuut.
-I see just a moment I need to get a superviser that speaks hysterical.
>pause<
-Miss?
-Nooo wwaah neee. daaa-uh-rrrkkk. fraid.
-Oh man Duane, we gotta get a specialist; this is Roadside dialect.
Eventually, I get what I need; a nice man with a towtruck and tools to fix my mess.
In the meantime, a car pulls up next to me with two shady men in it. It is well after midnight. This is the part where they shoot me because they can't car-jack me I think in a terrified state. They leave but with glares. I continue to cry. AAA comes. "Matt" as his shirt tells me, can't even take the paperwork from my trembling hands. Gently he says:
"Why don't you go ahead and get back in the car. I'll fix this and you'll be okay."
The magic words: You'll be okay. I sigh and get in. Like the scene from Groundhog Day, he puts the baby donut on my car as I'm sitting in it. He returns to my side and says quietly through amazed snickers. "Ummmm, you have a little bit of wheel well damage. here's our body shop if you want to call for an estimate." I blink, puzzled but just want to go home. I click my heals three times...to no avail. I must put the car in gear. Now I imagine I hear all SORTS of noises: a weak belt, battery acid driping onto wires, drive shaft coming loose...
I make it. I have no idea what time it is. Cheech meets me at the door and the words climb back into my mind. "You'll be okay. " I collapse in to his arms and he kisses my hair. "You're okay. You're safe" . I let loose. I ramble on in Roadside hysterics for about ten minutes. He just holds me. I break free, exhausted and sad. I wander hollowly upstairs to kiss my kids, my dogs. Cheech takes a flashlight and heads for the car; to assess the damage.
From upstairs I heard our Savior's name. Another tear falls down my soggy cheek. I fall away into a thick sleep marred with little sniffs and sobs.
In the morning I look under my car. It appears as if a large dremmel has gone insane down there. It is hacked, gouged and raw. What do you expect from a blow out at 65 mph? I pop the trunk to see my old tire. It is shiny and silver. It is not plagued by any black rubber. Not one single piece. In fact? it's smooth almost polished; this effect could only be due to the buffing it received from the pavement.
My pearl is in the hospital. She is being fixed. I have a get-well card and an I'm sorry card waiting for her in the garage for when she gets home. I'm in a timid and quiet rental Jetta. She hesitates at each request "Are you sure? THIS way? " she seems to ask.
She has a built-in GPS and extra strong tires.
Is that a challenge?
Have a good day; drive fast and don't use your brakes. ; )
