Two cars, one tow truck.

My husband says you 'can't script' the situations in which we often find ourselves. But, just in case, I'm going to write down some of this nonsense in the event someone actually does want to script it and can pay us for it. That'd be especially convenient since 87% of the crap we deal with is generally related to our lack of funds.

It is the lack of funds has consumed us lately, but I will forgo my sob story. The truth is -most of us are struggling with money - it's just the manner by which Gary and I get slammed into financial conundrums that is more interesting than most.  

Getting a lil' extra cash is among the reasons my husband traveled to Bowling Green Saturday night. He went to judge a Hardrock MMA show. He could go, carpool with some folks and gain a small profit- basically enough to pay our gas to work and back a couple times this week. I stayed home, even though Gary originally planned to drive us both to Bowling Green. I had mentioned the need for a MMA fix since I hadn't seen people bash each others' bodies in a while, but fiscally it was totally irresponsible, so I was going to have to get my violent, aggression-voyeur fix elsewhere. Hey, I'll go visit my parents! Kidding. Totally joking. 


So I hung out my parents and played with Charley until she finally crashed at 11 PM. Sometime around 1 AM I woke up, took her to bed and called Gary. I can never sleep when he is on the road after fights.  Mostly because I am certain something bad will happen.... call me Miss Cleo. 


Unable to sleep and without TV, I played on my phone and did laundry while I waited for Gary to get home. I called him at 2:30 to see where he was- he'd made it Mt. Sterling and he was stopping for a drink. He promised to call me when he got to Bath County and again when he got to Rowan County. I requested something in the chocolate candy department and went back to my chores. Looking back, I realize my body stress eats, even when it senses stress in the near future. (Do you like how I say 'my body eats' as though I have no control over it?! Ha!)




At 3 AM, as I am organizing my kid's closet, Gary calls and says: "Bad news." Please judge accordingly, but I swear before he uttered his next sentence I thought for sure he was going to say: I forgot and/or ate the chocolate you requested. If only it were that simple.




Gary was stranded on the side of the road in Bath County. Complete and utter destruction to his tire, wheel and fender. We had been planning to take his car in for maintenance after our next paycheck - too late.




Charley was asleep, so I made the decision to not take her with me on the road. I called my mom and planned to drop her off there so she could sleep and I did not risk her waking up mid-trip and asking 4500 hundred questions that all begin with 'why' - and her safety, of course. Of course, I was also considering her safety. In addition to being on the interstate in the dead of the night, watching her mother and father lose their sanity could lead to years of therapy we clearly can't afford.




I get to my parents and shamefully walk into their room to dump my kid on the bed. My dad is sitting straight up with his AAA card in hand. I grabbed the card and I felt like I'm 10-years-old all over again, as he had been hounding us to get Gary's tires fix for awhile now. He mumbles something about a free tow and off I go to rescue Gary from the side of the road. Rescue is a strong word. Honestly, it was not as if  his situation was incredibly urgent. Only my husband could be on the shoulder of the interstate at a very safe distance, with cell service, a wi-fi-connected computer, his dip, and plenty of snacks. So, he is basically in his recliner at home.


I almost grabbed my mom's keys as I walked out because my car was about out of gas (and I love her Sirius radio), but feeling like the biggest burden in the world already, I jumped in my car and searched for a 24-hour gas station. 



I hit 64 and said a prayer- Lord get us home safely, without further incident.

Now, 
Gary says I mumble. He can never hear me. I contend he is a poor listener. Tonight I confirmed God is male- he only heard half of what I said.


At mile-marker 130 I started losing speed and I heard a loud whirring behind me that interrupted The Doors (stoners take over the radio at 3 AM). 

The repeated thud from my driver's side back tire confirmed God's incredible sense of humor. 


I pull over as far as possible, but I was seconds away from the Bath County line, which crosses a bridge over the LIcking River. I get completely off the road with only a foot to spare. (Did I really just say spare?)




Completely manic and hysterical - I called Gary sobbing and cussing. Other than telling me I have to calm down and shutting down my irrational suggestion we just walk 'til we meet each and watch the sun come up...he convinced me to call my mom.




Lord. It's that phone call to your parents where you're telling your mom what happened and your dad starts asking questions and commenting from the background, so then my mom is talking to two people trying to relay messages and give instructions all at once. She spends majority of the phone call trying to clarify to whom she is speaking. Never mind, me folks, Ill just sit here on the interstate while we work out this convo. Their only advice 15 minutes later: "Call AAA, you have the card for free roadside assistance. See what they say and call back."




A girl takes one customer service professional development and she becomes an expert- AAA is the worst service I've yet to deal with. 


My favorite question was her first one- 'Are you in a safe location?'


'Why yes, ma'am. I am on the side of the interstate at 3:30 AM near a wooded area watching semi's whiz pass me at 80 mph. I've never felt safer. Matter of fact -I should open a preschool for visually impaired children in this exact location." Seriously?




Even after being as detailed as I could, Rhonda Roadside could not figure out where I was located. Apparently, I needed the longitudinal coordinates of my location because if she was not precise this whole deal was off-- i.e: 'ol girl couldn't move on 'til her computer allowed her.

I calmly endured the 15 minutes of her fumbling around with my location. I didn't snap when she thought I was in Connecticut. I said nothing rude when she asked me to list all the major roads I was near or just passed. When the woman told me the services could not be offered unless I could get 'my friend, Charles' to confirm my use of his card, I apparently became (as Kathy Griffin would say) a strong, black woman.




No way was I going to play phone tag and take more time for the already estimated hour until I receive assistance. I explained to her it was unsafe as it was, I was his daughter, and he is watching my 4-year-old as I was in this predicament because my husband was stranded on the side of the road (albeit comfortably) 6 miles ahead of me.




When she suggested I calm down and call the police if I felt 'that unsafe.' I lost it. 




'Ma'am at this point my safety is not my biggest concern, so unless the police drive up here passing out new cars and/or wads of money to fix this mess - I don't need the po-lice, I need to get to my husband and back home." And with the enunciation of po-leese, I was suddenly pretending to be a member of Honey Boo Boo's family on an episode of Cops. God help us all. I plea insanity.




Alas, I was approved for roadside assistance (she must've known I was hardcore). But by assistance - she meant a guy from Steve's Towing would be there in 45 minutes to get me and charge me $3 per mile after the first 5 miles, all due at the time of my tow.



Umm, no. Not happening.




I called my dad asked about the free tow? (Keep in mind, we have ruled out the spare. A. Not sure that I had one. B. I didn't want to be responsible for someone changing my tire while in the right lane of 64 at 4AM. C. The tow was supposed to be free). 


Irate and crazy, my dad sent my mom out the door to get me, wrote down AAA's number and promised to inform Rhonda Roadside where she can go and what she could do to herself. New discovery: I turn ghetto, while my father goes Clint Eastwood via RNC upon dealing with incompetent service peoples. Oy.




Remember Gary? Yeah, his car was completely dead at this point, but he was still perfectly entertained. Grasping at straws for a ride home, he decided to call his folks to get him, since my ETA was very uncertain - he made this decision prior to my dad losing his mind on AAA. Also, my mother is a nervous driver so with the fog and dark night she could've been a while. I decided to settle in sans snacks or computer hook up.




In the meantime, a very nice off-duty, MSU police officer stops and checks on me. Officer James. He offered to either drive me to Gary or get Gary and bring him to me, but since both of us had rides coming to us we declined.  Before he left, though, he flashed some light on my tire to expose to me what was left of my tire. Ugh. He was nice, but offered me no money or a new car. 




My mom finally made it to me. We passed Gary on the interstate. His dad was just ten minutes behind us and since he did not own a cell phone, we couldn't call him off his rescue mission.




Gary and I made it home, safely. Without incident? Hardly. 




Mom just called an Charley sounds horrible- coughing and complaining of a sore throat.  But, God love her, she is worried about how we are getting to church today. I am worried about how we are all getting to work tomorrow. We have a few hours to figure out how to get our cars off the interstate and fixed.




We are safe and (despite bouts of obesity) physically healthy. I think our emotional and spiritual health is compromised some- but by now we know the drill. We have been here before -often, too.damn.often. Nevertheless, we always seem to get exactly what we need to make it. 

Well, except that chocolate. I never got my chocolate.