This morning my boo-boo (pet name for my Chevy Malibu) died.
On Sunday, after being at the dog park with the boys, we stopped off at the new Kroger on Coit and Hwy 121 (very nice, by the way) to get some items for dinner. While Chris ventured into the store to collect the goodies, the boys and I kept the car ready (i.e.. air conditioning). During this time, a little light gaily danced onto my dashboard to the sound of a ding-ding-ding (reminiscent of my boxing ring days). “That's odd,” I thought to myself. “I wonder what that little battery icon means.” I think at this point a bright shiny object attracted my attention, and it was forgotten.
Over the last couple of days, the little light has appeard to the same sound, and after detailed discussions over what to eat for dinner, nothing was done. Today, my car spoke to me – well it gasped towards me on the corner of Coit and McDermott, only moments away from where it apparantly told me in the first place that it wasn't feeling very well. One minute the engine was running, the next it wasn't.
Now I should say, that it did attempt to jump up and down to yell at me that something was wrong – starting by lighting up another light on my dashboard, and then another. Finally, it decided that I no longer needed instruments to tell me how fast I was going, or not going; how little fuel I had left, or that I needed to let other drivers know that I wanted to turn a corner.
Being the cool, calm and collected person that I am, I decided that screeching down the phone to Chris was the only way to get my concern across. Here I am standing on the corner of a major intersection (well semi-major) and not one dime! I was outraged! Thank god I had decided to wear something that complimented my car, as I didn't want people to think that the intersection blockage was anyone else's but mine. Suprinsgly, while people kept their money to themselves, they also seemed to keep their external communications to a minimum. I guess they must have realized that on a day that was teetering on 100, that maybe cars break down, and if they did anything to express their displeasure perhaps it might come back to haunt them (or I might hunt them down).
So … Chris arrives (rubbing his ear) and promplty attaches this nipple clamp thing to something under the bonnet of both of the cars, and hey presto, my car was alive. Of course, my concern was that it would die far more quickly than Terri Schiavo once its feeding tube was removed, so I made an executive decision to call AAA-Texas and give them the power of God. I moved the car to a safer location, and out of sight to avoid having someone else realize that my shoes (er, flip flops) were not completely matching my outfit). After quoting a lot of information to AAA-Texas, which I am sure was memorized by the entire house building team nearby, I placed my call for help and was told that I should see something resembling a tow-truck within the next forty-five minutes. Not more than five minutes later, the car was being hoisted onto the back of a Quality Towing truck.
So now my boo-boo is sick, and some very nice men are looking after it in a place somewhere north of here. So the moral of this story? Never assume that you can just “sneak up to the store” without fully understanding the importance of always ensuring that your belt matches your shoes, and your hair is done. You never know where you might be standing.