So I'm a little slow (huge understatement) in getting a new post up. I've been working on a bunch of different writing projects and right now, the thought of doing more revisions on either one makes me want to hurl--sorta the same way our dogs did yesterday after I gave them zucchini. From the looks of what came back up, they weren't fans. That or I gave them indigestion talking about writing. That also could be why Jeremy's hiding out in the bedroom right now :P
But anyway, I decided that my most recent car experience deserved its own entry. Let me just get the setting right. It was a beautiful May day. Flowers opened their delicate blooms and pollen saturated my nose. Between the allergy meds, trying to finish spring semester classes, trying to get ready for summer classes, frantically pulling together a summer reading program for kids, getting in all the dental appointments I'd put off, and also having to write a conference paper--I was pretty irritable (that's an understatement. I used a lot of four letter words frequently).
The Scenario
But I digress. I was on my way home from the conference. It really was a wonderful conference that I attended with several co-workers, but I'm not a morning person, and I'd had to get up at like 5 a.m. It was now 5 p.m., and all I could envision was arriving home and the tasty beer that awaited me. That's when disaster struck! (ba ba ba boom--great sound effects, huh?).
I was following this large, (really large as in dump truck size) truck, merrily making my way back home through the middle of nowhere Georgia. Pleasant conversation flowed through the car as everyone relaxed, knowing they'd be home within an hour our so, the day done, the brain shut down. Suddenly, there was an extremely large mechanical part stretched out across the road in front of me. My eyes widened and I gasped in horror! Okay, not really. I stared at the thing and realized there was no option other than for me to run it over. I did.
This would not be a problem for most vehicles, but I, as you know, have a Honda Fit. Fits do not have the highest ground clearance. I quickly discovered, as my passengers and I bounced up into the air, along with every item in all eight of the Fit's cup holders (yes, I move a lot of empty cans around the cup holders), that a Fit does not fit over what turned out to be the drive shaft of the very large truck hauling a load of chicken poo in front of me. In fact, along with the bouncing, the bottom of my car emitted many disturbing crunching, rending and other unwordable noises. Needless to say, my heart was racing, and numerous four letter words (words that I've repeatedly tried to eliminate from my vocabulary with no obvious success) spewed from my mouth.
The Denial
I pulled over onto the first dirt road I found. I and my passengers wandered around the car in a daze--or maybe that was just me. Fluids gushed from underneath my car. Pinkish looking fluids. In my panic, I convinced myself it was only antifreeze--I'm ever the optimist when it comes to the most irrational things one could be optimistic about. What to do? We were like 10 to 15 miles, in both directions, from a town. Call Jeremy! So what if he's an hour away; he'll fix it! So I call Jeremy and explain what happened. He immediately assumes it's my fault (I will never shake that whole backing into my father-in-law's car thing). I assure him that it definitely is not (which is validated in short order when the truck driver returns to the scene), and we proceed to try to determine what might be wrong with my car.
Me: I think it's just antifreeze. It's a sort of pinkish color. Yep, I'm sure it's antifreeze.
Jeremy: What does it feel like? That doesn't sound like antifreeze. Have you tried to start your car again?
Me: No. I head back and turn the key, hearing the click, click, click sound a car makes when it's low on oil. Oh crap.
Jeremy: Well?
Me: Meekly explaining the reality.
Jeremy: Go check the fluid leaking out.
I walk back to the front of the car, lean down, and touch the liquid.
Me: It feels . . . greasy. It's not antifreeze, is it?
Jeremy: No, not antifreeze. Have you looked under your car?
Me: No.
Jeremy: Why don't you look under your car.
In my head, I'm thinking, no don't make me do it! I love my car; it's my baby! I can't bear to think about my car in pain (or me without my car)! I peer under the front, and it's like a massacre's occurred underneath. There are torn pieces of metal, bent at odd angles, fluids dripping here and there, jagged bits hanging down like it'd been disemboweled.
Jeremy sighs once we've completed the all-inclusive, over-the-phone, car evaluation and tells me he's on his way. We're over an hour from home, so I settle in for the wait.
The Graduation
That's when the fun begins. Apparently, it was high school graduation night. There was about an hour and a half to kill before the ceremony started. My breakdown at the end of a dirt road soon became grand central station. People stopped by to share their condolences, chat with neighbors on the way to graduation, reminisce. . . This was all well and good, but all the local police officers were already engaged at the graduation!
Within about forty-five minutes, the party was over. Everyone took off for the ceremony, leaving my passengers and I, once again, pacing around a dirt road. On the plus side, one police officer had arrived on the scene. On the down side, there was nothing he could do--he was a town cop and had to wait for the sheriff and state patrol to arrive. So, all of us stood around, silently waiting. . . doo, doo, do, do, doo.
The Theory of Evolution
And then the driver of the truck in front of me comes back. He admits that the drive shaft came out of his vehicle--the vehicle directly in front of me (so not my fault!). He really was a very nice man, but I had no clue what he was talking about most of the time. He kept talking about "apologists." From what I surmised from the ensuing conversation that unfolded, they had something to do with negating the theory of evolution--or maybe it was the opposite and they supported evolution and were all wrong. I admit, my mind was a bit fried, and all I really could ascertain was that the theory of evolution was wrong. Yes, I admit we all mentioned we were coming home from a conference. I admit the word theory was thrown out there. But we are all English geeks. Literary theory. While I do know a fair bit of Darwinian theory, considering the angle of the conversation, I was fairly certain that would not earn me any brownie points. So, for the next half hour, we all learned about creationism and the flaws in evolutionary theory.
The Conclusion
Enter State Patrol officer. State Patrol officer spends like ten minutes on the scene, and then he's set. Huh. All that for. . . that? But wait, still no tow truck. The tow truck guys are. . .yep, at the graduation. Over an hour and a half after this all starts, Jeremy pulls ups. Five minutes later, the tow truck from the town ten miles away pulls up. Sigh. Just get me home to that beer.
The next day, I'm trying to sort everything out. The car repair place told me my transmission had a huge hole in it. The insurance company claims they have no police report and that my claim was closed--by me. Huh? I spent the next two days getting my claim reopened and a crash report--crash reports apparently are no longer free and only available from buycrash.com for $5--I did give a moment of silence over that one as I contemplated the irony. Then I wait for the insurance adjustor who finds nearly $3,000 more wrong with my car. Then I wait. Need a part--won't come in til Monday. Then I wait. Everything's good, except the transmission isn't shifting like it should. Then I wait. One month later, I finally have my car back and am wondering what jacking it up would do to the gas mileage.
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