Pushing Cars

The year of 2006 seems to be a year of paired experiences for me. For example, in October, I drove to a funeral in Williamsburg, which was the site of a horrible "freak rain event" caused by a nor'easter that parked itself near Norfolk. Eight inches fell in something like 10 hours and, yep, I was driving in it the whole time. As I drove, the Williamsburg police seemed to following me and closing portions of the roads after I passed by. Then, just a couple of weeks ago, I drove through another nor'easter to get to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. There's just nothing like driving through sheets of water to the tune of the wind howling at about 25 miles an hour--in fact, if you haven't tried it, then you might as well hang up your driving gloves.

My other paired experience this year is pushing cars. Twice now I've been put in the position of having to push someone else's car that has gotten into trouble without any help from me (which is highly unusual because I have ADD and therefore cannot pay attention long enough to drive safely). The first push incident occurred this summer. I was driving my boyfriend's white and wood-grain Chevy station wagon, which is the size of a hearse (it's the same size and style as the last model of the Buick Roadmaster) to pick up my little Toyota Corolla, which had been in the shop. Although the battery light was on, he told me he hadn't noticed any problems with the car and deemed it safe enough for me to drive with my daughter Mary to get the car. The plan was that she would drive our car home and I would go in the station wagon. We got to the mechanic with no problems and off Mary went in our car and I in the hearse. It was starting to rain with ominous rumbles of thunder, but the temperature was still about 100 degrees, so I had the air and defroster on. Not a good idea when the battery light is on because that light in that particular car means one thing--your alternator is dying and draining everything from your battery.

So, first, the radio started fading in and out and then the dashboard lights flashed before going dark. I was trying to keep the car moving until I could get it home but, as is always my luck, when I got to the last stoplight before being home free, I was behind an elderly gent who decided that it was important to stop at a yellow light. I had no choice but to stop behind him. The light, normally red for about 30 seconds, was on some sort of delay and stayed red for almost five minutes. Meanwhile, the car died. Just then, the heavens opened up and rain began falling about about an inch a minute. There were cars behind me and because my car was so big, they were completely unable to see my arm motioning for them to go around. I couldn't turn on my hazard lights because they, too, were dead as doornails. So, I had to get out in the pouring rain and motion for folks to go around me so it wasn't long before I resembled a contestant in a wet-T-shirt contest for middle-aged women with bellies that stick out farther than their chests.

Eventually, the cars got past and I was able to sit in the car and decide on a plan of action. I had forwarded my house phone to Mary's cell phone because I had lost mine in Peru, so I couldn't call her. I decided to call my boyfriend for guidance. Immediately, I got his office voice mail that intones with a lovely mechanical female voice, "Wayne Wood [pause] is on the phone." I tried him several times during the next hour and each time I heard "Wayne Wood [pause] is on the phone." On the last try, I left a message for him to call me. So, then I tried his daughter and several other people, including my other daughter, only to find that no one would answer. I finally decided that I was going to have to take matters into my own hands and call a tow truck. I called my mechanic who gave me the number for their towing company and three subsequent calls to the number resulted in a cheery busy signal. Great. Fortunately, right after this, Mary called because it had been some time since we'd left the mechanic and I hadn't gotten home, so she was worried. I told her that I was in trouble and that she should probably come get me.

Then, Wayne finally called. I told him what had happened and that I thought I should tow the car to the mechanic. The reaction of my boyfriend, affectionately known as "Cheapy," was similar to that of someone who had just been told that he was about to be shot by an angry gang member and there was no way to escape the bullet. His idea was for me to wait in the car until he could arrive with another car and jumper cables to try to jump it off. The only problem with this plan was that Wayne commutes to work by bus and it would be about an hour and 45 minutes before he could arrive. I had work that was due at the end of the day. I told him that I couldn't afford to be away from work that long and that I would pay for the tow truck myself--provided I could actually get one.

Meanwhile, the stoplight went to flash because apparently the storm had knocked out some power in the neighborhood. This was actually a boon because it made people realize that I was stopped for some other reason than the light. It also immediately brought a city road crew truck to the scene. He noticed my plight and offered to help push the car back from the light and so that it was close to the curb and put some cones around it so people would know I was in trouble. I told him that I was having problems getting hold of the tow company, so he told me he'd see what he could do. He went back to his truck and returned a few minutes later to inform me that he had called the Cary Police and they were sending a car. I know he was being thoughtful, but the last time the Cary Police were dispatched to the part of town where I live, they got lost because the road I live off of is a long road and a lot of rich people live way on the other end. The result is that I waited two hours for them to find me. However, I decided to see what happened this time, so when Mary showed up, I told her that I was waiting for the police and she could go home without me and also unforward the phone.

Well, I waited about half an hour and watched four police cars drive past me. The fifth turned onto the road I was stuck on, but in the wrong direction, and soon it was out of sight. So, I called my mechanic and asked them if they could recommend a different towing company. They gave me another name and I called them and, miracle of miracles, someone answered. They said they could get someone out there at 6:00--and for me to leave the car with the key hidden in it. So, I agreed and then decided it would be a good idea to call the Cary Police Dept. and tell them I'd solved my problem myself. I did that and was actually thanked by the policewoman on the other end for being "a responsible citizen." Then, I called Mary and told her that she could come get me.

While I was waiting for Mary, I decided to see if I could get anything electrical in the car to work, so I turned the key and presto! The car started. I was so excited that I drove off and started home. Then, I remembered that Mary was coming to get me, so I drove back, ran into her and told her to follow me to the mechanic. Then, it became a race to the mechanic. In the far recesses of my mind, I had the notion that a car uses more power at rest than in motion, so my goal began to be not to stop at a light...unfortunately, since I live in a nightmarish area of surburban shopping centers and elementary schools, there is no way to avoid lights. So, as I approached my first light and watched it turn red, I knew I had to turn right on red, even if there was no reason for me to go that way. I quickly made the right and then found the connector road that would put me back on the right path and perhaps I'd get a green light then. Unfortunately, five SUVs and two mini-vans (Wayne and I are the only people in our town that don't drive one of these monstrosities, I swear, except for the Porsche and Mercedes drivers that wouldn't be caught dead on our side of town) blocked the view of the hearse from Mary and she had no idea that I had turned.

I could feel the car starting to die on me at this point, so I turned off everything inside the car, and risking a huge accident because all the windows fogged up in about 20 seconds flat, I whipped out onto the road where the red light had been and made it past the light and on to the next one, which was also green. I knew I didn't have long, so I turned right at that light and pointed the station wagon into an empty parking lot, where it died right in the middle. Since I didn't know whether the car would be there in the morning or not, I knew I had to get the car in a parking space. So, I put the car in neutral and proceeded to try to push it into a parking spot. The only problem with this plan was that the parking lot was on a slight incline so every time I had the car pushed about a foot, it would roll back about six inches. However, I inched it along and almost had it in the spot, when a nice man ran from across the street and helped me push it the final six inches. Hallelujah! No tow truck--Wayne would be my slave forever! I called the towing company and cancelled my request.

After I finished my mental happy dance, I started to walk back to my house. As I made it up to the corner where the light was, I remembered that Mary was still driving around looking for me. I had no idea what to do. I paused, and what did I see, but Mary in the Corolla rounding the curve. I started running to the corner waving at her, praying that the light that was so happy to be red when I was in the station wagon would be red again. Well, no such luck. The light was green and off went Mary. People saw me running and waving and some cars even stopped to let me get to a better spot where she could see me, but it was to no avail. Mary was gone. So, I just kept walking. Eventually, she called me, and I told her that I was almost home and that she didn't have to come find me. Wayne showed up at my house about an hour later and I was able to get him to the parking lot. We jump started the car and got it safely to the mechanic and all was right in his world.

My second pushing car adventure happened on my most recent trip to Lima, Peru. My friends took me at a show of Peruvian traditional dances that also serves drinks, including the Pisco Sour, my personal favorite Peruvian mixed drink. It had been my understanding that we'd have dinner (even though we started our adventure at 9:00 p.m.), so I hadn't eaten since lunch. About 6 Pisco Sours later, I realized that there was to be no dinner. The organizer of this outing, my friend Julio, also had not eaten, which explained why I got to dance with him twice--normally, he'd rather cut his own throat then get out on the dance floor. After the show was over, the guys decided that, at 3:00 a.m., that the night was still young and they decided our next stop would be a karoake bar. My friend Luis assured us that he knew how to get there, and he offered to ride with one friend, Juan Carlos, while the rest of us followed in Julio's car.

This is the night that I learned that, when Julio drinks more than a couple of Pisco Sours without eating, he channels Dale Earnhardt, Sr. So, suddenly, we were tearing around Lima at top speed and I got some bruises banging into the door of his car as he took curves as if he were on the track at Talladega or Rockingham. Thanks to the Pisco Sours, instead of praying that I would live through the night, I was laughing as if I were on the latest rollercoaster at King's Dominion or Six Flags. In the midst of this wild ride, the car suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

It seems that Luis had led Juan Carlos and Julio straight into a public park of some sort and into a quicking offroading adventure. Since Juan Carlos has a 4WD mini-SUV, this was not a problem for him, but for the Peruvian "Intimidator," this was not something his Nissan Sunny could handle. The result is that the bottom of the car was resting on cement while the wheels hung off, unable to touch the grass below.

Well, out we all got to inspect the situation. We were spotted by a group of even younger, more drunk men and they approached to assess our problems as well. This assessment apparently included pushing one of the guys in our party and Juan Carlos and Julio both had to intervene. In the mysterious ways of all men worldwide, this little scuffle led to intense male bonding and now the guys decided they would help us push the car out of the way. I offered to help push and was forbidden to touch the car. They pushed several times and the car moved a little, but not far. I began arguing that they needed my help and tried to explain about Wayne's car, but I had lost the ability to speak English by that time, let alone Spanish, so instead, I just went up and when they started to push, I put my hands on the hood and shoved with all my might. Up onto the pavement the car's wheels went and we were back in business, even though I was now face first in the dirt. I don't remember if anyone noticed this, so I got up and got in the car and we resumed our NASCAR tour of the Lima streets until we reached the karaoke bar. I'd like to think that my shove helped move the car, but I can't be sure.

The night remained exciting--my friend Felton showed up from a wedding and he was about in the same state I was in. While my friend Luis and I tried to sing karaoke and drink Sangria (just what the doctor ordered, I thought), Felton and Julio began playfighting. This resulted in my being challenged to an arm wrestling match with Julio (I lost, to his great glee) and eventually ended up with Felton on top of Juan Carlos on the floor, our table knocked over, and my glass of sangria broken. The bartender, obviously used to these kinds of hijinks, calmly came over and cleaned everything up. Juan Carlos, in his role of responsible member of the group, asked for the bill and we left shortly after that to the great joy of the bartender.

Our ride back to myhotel was yet another NASCAR adventure with Felton alternating between yelling "Fuckeeng beetch" and "I want more beer!!!" There were also Spanish comments about the fact that my hotel is located across the street from a strip club. When we got there, I kissed the boys and waved them off. I later learned that they went back to Felton's house and drank until 9 in the morning (it was 5:30 when they dropped me off). Julio then took one curve too many too fast and flattened his tire and bent his wheel and his car ended up in the shop.

When I woke the next morning, I ached all over and there were a myriad of bruises all over my body. The moral of this story is to eat dinner before imbibing Pisco Sours and let men be men by graciously standing to the side when they try to push cars out of parks. I also plan to avoid driving any large American car when its battery light is on.