Can You Transfer me to Security?

Oh, how my memory failed me these last few blogs. I haven't even begun to enlighten you about all my car luck.

Labor Day Wknd. Friday- 332p, just got off work, still in scrubs & all. Just me & my poor 1999 little Honda on the road again. Make it 26 miles on the interstate, take my exit (I take the little highway- more scenic). After fillin' her up, I drive away. Temperature gauge is off the charts!! Hot as Hades. Grey smoke everywhere. I pull over into some sketch factory w/ buses and huge tanks. What do I do? I'm just a little 'ole girl? Start dialing numbers to alleviate some of the anxiety. Mom says to pop the hood. NOO, that's international sign for I need help. Seems weird that I say that, but could someone really do to help me? (I had had a mild incident w/ the temp gauge that Monday, & my gracious roommate gave me some Antifreeze.) I drove 1/2 mile down the road, had to pull over for 30+ min, try again, pull over, try again. I finally make it to a post office. It's kind of like I don't want be around anyone b/c I don't want them to offer to help me, & me just say no. Yet, I don't want them to drive by & not offer! I'm thinking, PHEW, I'm okay it's about 5p on Fri, the post office is closed. No sir. Ppl were flying in and outta there! I'm talking to MG on the phone, actively pouring antifreeze into my car, sweating in my purple scrubs. A lady pulls up like she's late for dinner w/ the Pres., throws that Benz into park in a HANDICAP spot (You can prob guess she wasn't handicap.) She approaches me. I begin to think, either she's really late in sending a letter or naturally concerned about her fellow (wo)man. She's on her cell phone too..."Excuse me, excuse me miss, I know you're busy, but can you tell me how to get back to I65?" A little appalled, I tell her how to get there as I'm wiping sweat from my brow. REALLY? I mean really, lady? Just by judging my 1st appearance, do you think I know what I'm doing & you want to ask me for DIRECTIONS?! Hahah. Oh, my life.

Eventually made it to a fire station- it was VOLUNTEEEERR so no one was there!!!!!! What? No one at the fire station? Ludacris! Every guy who stops to help me, I can't help but think they are Ted Bundy. My ride finally shows up 3 1/2 hrs later. I was about 400ft & a curve away from a car garage. Ha. I could have put her in neutral & pushed her there! Wait, who am I kidding? I'd die of a panic attack before that.

Yesterday, walking up the stairs in the parking garage that I lose my car in daily, I pass my car. Turn around, embarrassed, approach that little Racy Honda. Keys in the ignition, but nothing happens when I turn it...sounds like eeeeeeeesssdddeeraa. Oh no. People are walking by & OF COURSE they're looking at me...haha. I toss the anxiety aside & lift the hood. "Operator, can you transfer me to security? My car won't start." "Um, I mean, I can, but he's on another call. It'll be a while."..."That's fine! Thanks." Ummm, so you don't want him to come help me? Should I just walk home? Catch a Grey Hound? Who are these ppl?!!? He drives by w/ these crazy NEON GREEN flashers pointing at me, like is it you that is having trouble? Nooo, I'm just hanging out/soliciting in the Children's Hospital parking garage. Bless him, he really was sweet. Telling me how to get corrosion off my battery. The car starts! Time to hit up Auto Zone. I only know of 1 Auto Zone, happens to not be in the best part of town. I pull up, grab my wallet, LOCK THE DOORS, & walk in. I have just entered the most inner-racial group of ppl per ca pita in the US. (Not that's it's a problem, but there's so many different languages being spoken, & after wiping baby bottoms all day, I was still the cleanest person.) A cute little Mexican helps me. The battery is shot. Dead. No mas.

We go back into the store. I purchase a battery & ask him to install it. That's out of my league. I can check/add antifreeze, oil, water, butttt I really don't need to touch anything else. You remember that I'm pretty much a cluster? As he's working on my car, I can't help but think that he may be illegal, working well over 40hrs/wk to provide for his family, while all in the mix of getting caught up in a gang. (Too much Tru TV for me.) He asks me where I work since I was wearing scrubs. "Children's Hospital." "Ohh, so you work w/ children?" (Hhaah, aw.) "Yeah, I can tell b/c you know ppl who work w/ children are just happy."...I chuckle. He proceeds, "Which I guess is good b/c you don't want angry ppl working w/ children." "This is true." He has to go inside to get scissors b/c his tool bag did not have any. He looks at me, "Will you make sure no one steals my tools?" WHATTTTTTT? STEAL? You better make sure no one steals me!!!!!! I mean, he was serious as can be! Where am I?, I think to myself. Being observant of my surroundings, I'm like freaking radar, catching every little movement!

He also tells me my tires are low. Always something. I added air today, but think I may have put too much. Guess we'll find out tom, if my tires pop while driving down the interstate. haha.

It's probably about time to turn her in for a new one. This time, it would be wise on my part to invest in a SVU, something w/ tires of steel, & taller than most curbs. A dark color in case buggies randomly run into my door. Maybe a Humvee. Buttt w/ a depth perception problem like mine, I need it to comfortably fit in parking spots of all sizes & make sharp curves just fine. We'll see.