Friday, July 21, 2006

Highway to Hell

I’m on the highway to hell, with my name embossed on Satan's saddle. LOL

Don’t EVER say to yourself, “Can things get any worse?”

The boy-who-bought-a-car-but-never-drove-it, finally took it into the shop for more repairs. The air conditioning didn’t work, and none of the electric windows worked, which essentially meant he owned a 4-wheeled sweat lodge.

The car battery that was in the vehicle when he purchased it, was older than the vehicle itself. Hell, I think it was older than the boy. Maybe older than the boy’s mother. It had the cranking power of a bucket of slugs.

The cables that connected to the battery were made of braided goat hair and chewing gum foil.

So while his car was in the shop (and the mechanic was planning his vacation from the profits of the repairs) the boy was still driving my car. Right into the ground.

He took it to run errands. He called. “Uh, Mom?” (Poor child still doesn’t recognize my voice after 20 years.) “Your car won’t start.”

Someone took pity on the six-foot-tall sweat bead pacing nervously in front of his mother’s dead car while the heat index hovered in the 120 degree range. They gave him a jump start. He came home, and put the battery charger on it.

Then {insert mother’s slow head shake} he said he was going to run an errand in town, but INSTEAD he picked a friend up and headed out on the interstate.

Then my phone rang again.

“Uh, Mom? The car quit running and we’re stranded on the freeway.”

Insert mother spewing expletives.

So off go Father, Sister and still-cursing mother, to ride to rescue. Insert stop at Walmart to purchase new battery. Insert new battery into car as 18-wheelers whistle by, inches away. Instruct boy to return home to death row.

Next day, drive boy to French Fry land. Pick boy up, stop at Walmart to turn in old car battery, get $7 core fee back. Return to car. Car won’t start. Get jump start from tire and lube guy. Drive boy to garage. He has opted for battery cable replacement as only repair, as air conditioner and/or electric window repairs cost more than what he paid for the car. Try to follow boy home - my car won’t start. Leave mother’s car at mechanic (who is now re- planning vacation).

Ride home with boy in 4-wheel sweat lodge.

Curse Fate, who instead of smiling on us, has hocked up a big ol’ loogie and spit on us.

PS - On a brighter note (LOL)
I have a little post about being a writer over at Karen's fabulous blog Write Stuff.

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