File Under: This stuff usually only happens to me, but, alas, this time I had company.
It had been a frustrating day from the get go. I had awoken at 3 a.m., 5:15 a.m. and finally 6:30 a.m. Jess didn’t feel like getting up to go to school so I needed to utilize my best reverse psychology (“You will have to explain to Mr. P why you are late…matters not to me”) before 8 a.m. I had been up to my eyeballs in “administrative” type crap around the house and was more than ready to see the light of day and get some fresh air. I awaited Jess’s arrival home from school (which always comes way sooner than I expect it to) so that I could give her a healthy snack (so she had candy corn…don’t judge me) and take her to the metal-smithing class on the other side of town.
On the way back, I stopped at a market and picked up some fresh turkey in preparation for the sandwich I am planning on making to take to work tomorrow. (I have finally realized that having an apple and a Quest bar is not sufficient lunch for me.)
I took the familiar route home, the one that I take at least once a day, every day and happily breathed in the perfect air that I wait all year for. It was 62 degrees, clear and delightful. My hair looked great. I wasn’t sticky from the air. The windows and roof were open. I felt the stresses of the morning spent hunched over files and notebooks drift away.
And then it happened.
What the fuck was that?
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach and instantly recognized the sound and hoped that is was not what I thought it was. I had hit something (as in ill-covered construction, not a living thing!) in the road and had a flat. Oh, wait, no…make that two flats. Yes, the entire passenger side of my car was immediately leaning several inches into the ground. Damn it.
But wait, what is that I see in my rearview mirror? Two, yes, two other cars who have met a similar fate, their owner’s standing alongside their sloping cars looking dismayed. So there we are, on the edge of a busy thoroughfare, my little Lexus, a late-model Highlander and a Subaru with New Hampshire plates. As I headed toward the two folks who would soon become my new friends, we heard a familiar thud and were joined by a middle-aged gentleman and his brand new Porsche.
I started to laugh. I actually did. I had a clear choice: I could either laugh or I could throw myself into the road. As I contemplated my options, the next victim pulled into formation with us and we were we joined by a nurse in a minivan on her way home from what was, I am guessing, a double shift. (She later told me that she had just purchased new tires.) In case you lost count, that is five cars all disabled in a five-minute span by something menacing in the road.
Once I stopped seeing the humor and began to feel the rage, I called the local police. Funny thing I learned: we were not the first five cars to suffer the fate of something in the road. They had fielded five, yes, a different five, such calls earlier in the day. And, it turns out, an additional, are you ready for this?, twenty cars in the past twenty-four hours…all with two flats on the passenger side.
Okay, huge nuisance, but surely the town is going to take care of it, right? Wrong. The cop who finally arrived to check things out told me, “In my twenty years on the force I have never seen the town pay for something like this.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
So now my car is at the dealer three towns away. I am going to need two new tires, a ride to get my car, several hundred dollars to get it out of their garage and no one is going to take responsibility?
I am a little bit pissed.
But, (and forgive my Pollyannaism), no one got hurt, it is only money (and mounds of aggravation). That said, I see a carefully worded Letter to the Editor and call to the town in my immediate future. I am tempted to send them the bill for my tires, my time, my turkey that didn’t get to the fridge as soon as I would have liked, my future anxiety over driving down that (or any other) road in town and my generalized frustration with life.
Does this have anything to do with Jessie or her transition? No, it does not. But this is my blog and I will vent as I see fit.
Now, if anyone wants to juggle my day tomorrow and figure out how I am going to get to work, take Jess to two appointments and pick up my car, let me know.
p.s. Thanks to MLS for collecting me.