Bleah

What a totally disgusting, awful day.

It’s been many moons since I’ve experienced one so bad. You don’t need to know all the gory details preceding the main event, but imagine your hysterical spouse in a dead ’89 Dodge blocking the road while you’re trying to get the AAA operator in darkest Texas to grasp the concept of a tilde (~), necessary for the correct spelling of where the hell you are (Cañon Rd. & Don Nicolas Drive), which she supposedly needs to know so she can enter it into the computer and access the info for a local towing company. I kept telling her there was only one that mattered, but she wouldn’t have any of that. Yes, the one AAA eventually called for me was that same and only one. I even gave the operator the name beforehand, but she wouldn’t listen to me. (The people at this level of service make plurals with apostrophes, you know. It’s very sad. I should have been more kind, I suppose: asking most PC users of my acquaintance to come up with a tilde-over-the-“n” is pretty cruel, even if they know what you’re talking about.)

And then my cell phone battery died…

After using my wife’s phone to call again and declaring to the second operator that the first one should be taken out and shot, I happened to remember that what I call Cañon Road is actually U.S. 64, which smoothed things out a bit. This operator actually put me through to the towing company, which said they’d be there in an hour and a half, then tow the car to a designated garage. I left the keys on the floor and drove us back home in the truck.

It’s been over eight hours since we left the car. Four hours ago we had a phone call from the woman my wife had been visiting, and she said the Dodge was still there. Maybe it’s resting quietly in the mud as I type this, who knows, or maybe it’s on fire. At least it isn’t a Porsche. If all the windows are busted out in the morning, we’re only out the alleged trade-in value of about $300, so things could be worse.

We’re thinking now to call the garage on Monday morning — assuming the Dodge was eventually towed — and telling them NOT to fix it, because whatever’s wrong (fuel pump?) will cost more than the car is worth. That’s a given. So maybe it’s time for a “new” car. Oh boy, I guess. “What the hell, the dollar isn’t worth anything, it’s like paying with feathers or candy bar wrappers.”

I’m thinking of a year-old Pontiac Vibe, 36+ mpg. The only thing is, my wife wants an automatic transmission [sob]. “But honey, you can get even better mileage with the stick shift!” She doesn’t get it. GEAR RATIOS, baby. You want to fly up La Veta Pass? Put ‘er in 3rd and keep the revs up, simple. But with an automatic? Sheesh!

unnhhhhh-grunt-unnhhhh-DOWNSHIFT! REEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRR
upshift-unnnhhhh-grunt-unnhhh -DOWNSHIFT! REEEEEEEEERRR, etc.

What is it with some people that they can’t grasp these things? The Vibe has a Corolla engine. Hook that up to an automatic, and it’s like throwing out an anchor. Know what, though? She does most of the driving in town, running errands and such, and traffic usually just creeps along. Hmm.

This will be probably be her car, if I have any sense, so I have to bend.

Bleah.

(God, do I miss my Nissan 240SX-SE…)