a.k.a. Two lives simultaneously at stake. (Followed by steak later that evening)
Was driving down I94 in the Death Star yesterday afternoon on the phone with a dear friend of mine. I had just bought an edging brush to touch up my sloppy paint job in my new place, had a mocha betwixt my knees, and life was good.
Suddenly from out of nowhere, my car started a-rattling and smoking something awful and a red light came on the display with a graphic of a dripping oil can on it. Although the oil can graphic is sort of cute and cartoon-y, you could tell that it wasn't supposed to be illuminated like it was by the sounds the car was making. I pressed down on the accelerator the Death Star didn't seem to take that too well, just rattling more and saying "Fug you! I'm in no mood to get you from Point A to Point B today, Poopie Pants!"
At that same time she exclaimed "OH SHIT!" into the phone (or something to that effect), and alls I could hear was a fierce wind blowing on the other end. I started wondering if she had tied her phone to her car's bumper and gone for a drive. I guess some rather inclement weather conditions had suddenly developed. She was walking her wee pet in a park, and was in the middle of a bevy of tornadic activity laced with zaps of lightning, a downpour of rain, and wind. Lots of wind.
The phone signal was chopping up like an old McDonald's drive thru intercom, and I sort of heard her holla "CAN I CALL YOU LATER?" over the wind. Worried, I said “PLEASE DO!” loud and clear and before I knew it, the display on me smell phone read Call Ended. My eyes fixed themselves back on the red oil light which was still shining vividly. It was like looking into the eyes of Satan.
The Death Star was getting more upset by the second, still vibrating and smoking. I feared it was going to stall on 94 and that I was going to be robbed and man-raped, left for dead, and that friend and her wee pet on the other end were flying around in the air like all that shit was in that tornado movie Twister with Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt.
I began to suck my thumb and make baby noises. Childhood flashbacks were passing through my brain like a subway train blurring past you in a dark station. I only had 2 miles to go before home, but was certain the Death Star wasn't going to make it. Those two miles now were 200, and every time I hit the gas, the car seemed to go slower and I felt like I was actually traveling further from home than closer. Tunnel vision set in. Dollar signs flew before mine eyes, visions of towing and auto mechanic bills shooting past me. I started to miss Frank. I envisioned myself on the side of the highway with my thumb out facing westbound traffic trying to hitch a ride. I wondered if Friend and wee pet were now embedded in a tree like you see in the papers when winds are so strong that they cause nails and other things to impale tree trunks.
Five minutes later I made it home alive. I pulled the Death Star to the curb and smoke was billowing from beneath the hood. It sorta looked like the Delorean from Back to the Future, all silent and smoky with a faint hiss from the engine. I checked a newspaper in a nearby stand just to make sure that I hadn't just entered a tear in the time/space continuum while all that shit went down. Thankfully it was still 11/6/05, at least according to the paper.
I called pops who is an auto mechanic genius, and he's going to come out and take a look at the car for me. In the interim, I live right on the bus line which is quite convenient. Worse comes to worse, I've got the Pinto stored away at Rancho Relaxo and can use that as backup if need be. At least until that starts rattling and smoking, at which point I will start shopping around for a mule.
Friend and wee pet checked in a little later and ended up being okay as well. They suffered severe power outages from the storm and allegedly ended up eating cold steak and brownies at the family dinner, but at least everyone was still alive and well fed.
Myself on the other hand: I went home exhausted and sat down to take a load off. The chair collapsed beneath me and I fell onto the floor and cracked my head open on the oven.
Well, not really, I actually simply crashed on the davenport and watched some tee-vee. But you’ve got to admit, the chair and head cracking open thing would have added an extreme angle of drama and suspense to this story and would have been pretty fuckin’ cool to tell people about some years later, drooling in a wheelchair and whatnot. So let’s just go with that ending instead, shall we?
