So in addition my husband almost dying, and then him breaking a rib, our car decided to die on the way to work today.
We were driving down a mountain behind the most redneck truck I had ever seen. It was a matte black ford ranger with these huge jacked up tires. It looked like they had painted it with spray paint and to add the icing on the hillbilly cake was the three guys crammed into the tiny cab. They slowed down to turn and about that point our car began to make a sound I like to call 'screaming in pain'.
I don't speak car very well, but I'm pretty sure it was saying something along the lines of “OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS BURNS LIKE LIQIUD FIRE!” We pulled over immanently and got out of the car. The first thing we noticed (and by we I mean Scott) was that the brake rotors on the rear tires were incredibly hot. And by that I don't mean that they were terribly sexy.
There is a certain sinking feeling one experiences when standing next to the highly advanced machine that you were relying on completely to take you places, that for whatever reason is not working. We looked at the car, and then we looked at the huge mountain we had driven down.*
“Do you think we can make it home with no breaks?” I asked Scott, trying not to think about how much a tow would cost.
“Sure,” He said simply. “It's all up hill from here.”
Of course it wasn't but we ignored that fact. The sound had stopped because the broken thing was now broken and did not see a point in continuing to scream about it. On the way it dawned on us that we had to call the office. Having backed out of several jobs due to illness, I felt terrible about telling Boss Man that we weren't coming in today.
Boss Man understood completely that this was in no way our fault, and told us just to worry about Scott's stress test tomorrow and to fix our car. He did reveal that the client had wanted to add an extra person, but that he couldn't find anybody, and now he had three slots to fill, which may or may not happen. I felt awful, but even though we still had my Dad's old car there was no way we could drive all the way home, switch cars and then get to work on time. Plus my Dad's car, which is now my car, well lets just say that I'm not sure that it will make the three hour drive to DC and back without dying.
So now I'm at home. We have already made one trip to the Advance Auto Parts store, replaced some parts, and ordered more parts. Called relatives who know cars and gotten idea of the problem.
It's gonna cost us.
If my blog was wildly popular I would offer to draw/paint you any goddamn thing you wanted if you gave me ten bucks, and email you the JPG. But nobody reads this blog yet. Yet. Someday. So I dunno. It's a catch 22. My husband is broken, my car is broken, and I can't go to work until both of those things unbroken themselves.
Pity Party Tonight! BYOB! I'm going to start drinking now.
* I know if you live near the Rocky's you will claim that our mountains are really glorified foot hills and that you don't know what we are complaining about, first of all fuck you, and second my state does not believe in guards rails or switch backs so why don't you try driving down a mountain with no rear brakes here and see what the fuck happens to you.
Post a Comment