Sunday I had the urge to finally wash the months of dirt accumulated off the race car. So I grabbed a rag, a bucket and the hose and got started.
About halfway around the race car with one half of the race car a dingy grey and the other half a beautiful shiny silver, I started around the license plate holder...and proceeded to slice open one of my fingers on my right hand. Oh lordy. Blood, pain, blood. Yuck. I dropped the rag, stood up and started toward the house and then immediately stopped, turned around, grabbed the hose, washed the cut off, jammed my thumb against the cut to stop the bleeding and proceeded to finish washing the rest of the race car with my left hand. A mighty feat, I tell you, seeing as I'm very much right hand dominant...and that cut stung. I am woman, hear me roar.
Monday I got in the race car to head to work. It started up with a rumble, rumble, rumble that was much more pronounced than usual rumbles. The whole car shook like a bowl full of jelly...oh, sorry, mixing up stories. Anyway, it was a major shake and didn't sound great but, hey, I needed to get to work. Monday night about 6pm when I was finally ready to head home, I went out and started the race car it rumbled and died. Tried again. Rumble, die. Pushed my foot on the gas, rumble really loudly and fast! Made it to the top parking lot before it died again, this time locking up the power steering. I did what any strong woman would do...called Papa Bear. :) He came to my rescue but the poor race car sat in the church parking lot overnight.
Tuesday I called the mechanic. They were closed. Something about a bike tour being in SC and the whole downtown being a mess and something. Sure. Likely story. Appointment for Wednesday. Race car, again, has an overnight stay at church.
Today (Wednesday) I called for a tow truck. Which was actually quite funny. As I talked to the insurance people about getting a tow truck who told me that it could take up to 45 minutes for said truck to arrive, I was looking at the tow truck shop across the street from the church. Literally the 5 minute warning call came as I watched the truck pull out of their parking lot and into the church parking lot. The tow truck driving was hooking up the race car before I even made it out the door. It's a sad, sad thing, Internet, to watch one's lovely car be driven down the road by a tow truck. I'm much too attached I think.
The mechanic is keeping the race car overnight. Something about something about the starter and...okay, I didn't listen very closely. All I heard was "250 dollars". But he did say "it's a very nice car", I agree, and he also humored me and checked the fuel filter (which needed to be replaced and he did it, thank you). And tonight the race car is snugly tucked inside the mechanics shop...which is a huge step up from the church parking lot. Tomorrow I get to pay for that overnight stay. Sigh.
And that, my dear Internet friends, is my sob story of the day***. The End.
***Which isn't that awful, really, and in light of things that are happening in some of my friends lives, is kind of petty. Just had to qualify. I'm whining but it's more of a silly whine not a serious one. Life could be much worse and I fully realize it!