Sunday, August 10, 2008

Waterproofing My Life

Why is it always me? On Friday there was a comedy of errors that wasn't so much funny. The plan started simple - dinner out with colleagues at work. The majority were from landlocked areas of the country and the choice was simple - seafood. Simple until my idea was kBoshed by someone who wasn't even coming with us. She made some good points, like where I wanted to go was goomba central where we would find State Street (NY - think Wall Street) tough guys looking for the hookup and ladies on the prowl. Not necessarily where to spend a Friday night dinner on the town with some co-workers - none looking for the hookup all just looking for some sea dwellers. We go to plan B and I rush everyone to wait. I rush them all out so we can get the show on the road to beat the rush - and we wait for a cab. The 45 minutes go a little like this:

Sit.
Wait.
Stand and wait.
Cab drives up - asks "name?"
I say, "Jenn."
Driver drives away, with out us while we wait. Sit.
Wait.
Stand and wait.
Cab drives up - asks "name?"
I say, "Jenn."
Sit.
Wait.
Stand and wait.
Cab drives up - someone else jumps in.
Wait.
Stand and wait.
Cab drives up - asks "name?"
I say, "Jenn."
Sit.
Wait.
Stand and wait.

It was fun.

Finally a cab drivers up and drops someone off. I get in - get everyone else to get a move on. Some randoms come up scream, "heeeeeey!" Like I stole their turn on the swings. I tell them whenever someone comes a knocking for Jenn - grab it. Suckers.*

We finally get to our destination and follow the arrow that points to dinner. I'll fast forward, but you should know:
  • there was very little to choose from on the menu.
  • what we did order sucked and was served in styrofoam cups or on plastic plates.
  • turns out we were sitting at the bar and there were another restaurant above that would have had more choices, hot food, served on big girl plates & music that didn't make you want die your hair blue and make chains your everyday accessory pick.
  • it starts torrential pouring and the roof (tent) starts leaking, on us.
  • call for a cab and while it comes immediately - we were planning on it taking longer so we were mid drink.
  • we have to walk miles (far) in the buckets of rain coming down.
  • arrive to cab and the driver is cranking butts and with all the windows up.
  • we get in the stink cab and the windshield immediately fogs - we can see nothing the majority of the way home.
  • I joke that an accident would really top the evening off.
On the way home I start to think, all in all I'm on my home at 7:30 - it's kind of a win day even with all the hoopla.

My car replies such happy thoughts with a "put put" and then silence as I coast over to the side of the road. Flatlined right there on the side of the road. I call AAA, which thankfully I invested in, and they state they won't be to me in less than 70 minutes. I call my fabulous husband and inform him he shouldn't come. He is 1 block away. They call me 20 minutes later (which is less than 70 it turns out) and when I call C he is finally just getting up the stairs with our soaking wet child who has just shat herself. Awesome.

I get in the triple A truck - who is a chatterbox and kept talking about cars, proceeds to get lost and finally gets me to the place I want to go. He can't maneuver my car into the parking lot - so he takes her down and we were going to throw it into neutral. I go to do that and although it has finally stopped pouring, I am soaking wet still and get in the car. Mr. Chatty says, "Just try to start it, for fun."

And wouldn't you know it - fun became ridiculous as my car started right up.

Mr. Chatty, "Did you go through a puddle?"
Me, soaking wet, sitting in my purring car, "Ah, yeah - it was pouring. How could I not?"
Mr. Chatty, "That's probably it."

My aggravation was three fold:
  1. Of all the things to ask me to diagnosis and help the situation - this question would have been the first I wish came up.
  2. How come my car is not waterproof? Can I not drive it in the rain? WTF.
  3. Bastard handed me a bill for 9 bucks - apparently it's 3 dollars for every mile over the allotted mile count. He's the idiot that got lost, WTF.
Turns out after it was taken for a spin by the garage I dropped it off at that's all it was, a stupid puddle. A guy from the shop called...

Mike of Mike's Auto, "Hey Kid, did you go through a puddle?"
Me, f'ing angry, "Ah, yeah - it was pouring. How could I not?"
Mike of Mike's Auto, "That's probably it, Kid."

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