Another rollicking Saturday night
So I pulled over last night in a questionable part of town to get something out of the trunk. I got back in the car, turned the ignition and shifted the car into drive.
Unfortunately, a screw or something is loose because the car? Can’t be shifted. It sits there and basically looks at me when I throw it into first or reverse.
I noticed the gearshift was falling apart last week. About the same time something plastic came out of one of the windows that seals it shut. And long after two other pieces of plastic on the dashboard have come loose and I have to pound them into place at least three times per commute to work.
This is Mom’s car. Mine is pretty unusable, as the tires sound like the Three Stooges (with a constant “woop woop woop” sound). I drive that thing up and down U.S. 1 but I wouldn’t dare put that sucker on I-95.
So, yeah. Had to get the POS towed back home, since it was a Saturday night and the mechanic isn’t open till Monday and Mom wouldn’t let me have it towed there because it would be stripped.
The driver was nothing like my Howard who rescued me at Ye Olde Alligator Farm. Howard brought diagnostic tools and got Samantha working long enough to get me home and back and home again. Carlos laughed in my face when I asked if he could make the repair. Carlos was kind of an idiot in general, especially when he thought he could ask me out and I’d accept.
I could point out the many things he did wrong, but when he said the car wasn’t going to stay still in its parking spot here at home and what could I do to help, I lost it. I said, “Emergency brake, moron.” Although since the car is in a perma-“park” state, I didn’t see the point but whatever. Maybe I made him nervous. And he would have been cute if he could have been HELPFUL. But alas, he was no Howard.
So I get to get the car towed AGAIN tomorrow morning. Oh I cannot wait. This will be Stewie’s third time on a truck. (I call him Stewie because his red paint is peeled and he looks like a stewed tomato. Fucking Florida weather has killed my paint jobs.)
I don’t know how to “work it” with work. The mechanics are only open 8 to 5 weekdays. Somebody has to be here to fetch the car prior to my normal 9 p.m. arrival time at home. I just hope they can get it done tomorrow and that nobody has a problem with me working from home. (Oh, to be able to use vacation time …)
The good news is that I’ve been needing to get to the mechanic anyway and I haven’t had time to drop off Samantha to get new brakes so that I could drop off Stewie to get his work done. So, Stewie gets priority.
There’s a car I’ve been eyeing at one of the dealerships on my way to the satellite office. And by eyeing, I mean drooling over. It’s out of my price range but the spoiler and sunroof are so very worth it. But I am so terrified of taking on a loan. I need a damn vacation before I get a car.
Oh well. Right now I’m thanking God that I was somewhere safe (well, morons shooting off fireworks nearby aside) and had a full tank of gas and plenty of A/C while I waited for help. But the car is such a metaphor for me — it’s going to take going into total breakdown mode for me to deal with the sneaky hate spiral of escalating problems. It’s just a shame that I have to take care of the car first.
Thank you, God, for helping me to hang in there till it’s “my turn.”