Read on and weep and laugh

This week’s tale of woe is from Layton

JuI 1 17:01 1991 la.storia Page 1

So, Tuesday I get this invitation to attend an authorized inventory reduction sale (PR jargon calls it “an event” ) at my local Ford dealership, which I promptly trash, of course, because (don’t you know) I’ve GOT a good American car.

Well, read on and weep and laugh, Prince Myshkin.

So I leave the office Wednesday evening to go home (my angelic scheme is to work at home Thursday).

So, okay, I go to start my car which is parked on the 5th floor of the City Garage. And all I get is an O-shit insidious click-clicking noise from deep within the dark and infinitely mysterious bowels of the dash (why don’t the damn Owner’s Manuals ever index this phenomena under “click-clicking noise”?), and my high-tech robotic seat belts are going into a kind of rhythmic spasm/epileptic dance around my humble shoulders and head (Dave Aragon is probably still chuckling over this part….. ). So I turn off the ignition and the click-clicking noise continues from somewhere inside the prosaic heart of the dash. So I leap out of my car in case meltdown is imminent. After about 10 minutes the click-clicking noise stops and the car sits there as innocent-looking and red as a newborn baby’s butt. This time, when I turn it over, the car is as silent as a grave.

So I wander back to the office for help. J would love to help, don’t you know, but she has a hot date.

So Wayne comes to my rescue. Wayne conceives the brilliant plan of pushing the car down a floor-at-a-time and jump-starting it on the momentum from the ramp in-between floors. After about two floors of this, Wayne and I decide “Fuck this. ”

So we try to jump-start it from Wayne’s car battery– nada/ nunca, niente-basta!

So Wayne wishes me weII, tells me he loves me dearly, and drives off for home and a beer. So I wander back to the office and phone Allstate. WeIl, they’re just tickled pink to be able to help me, as sweet as pecan pie about it, just delighted….. and delightful. So I give them more information about myself than the IRS has on me. And then, suddenly, the girl sing-song says:

“Why, honey chile, don’t you know, our tow trucks won’t fit in THAT garage.”

So I phone my sister in Vacaville and she agrees to come and get me (after all, I’m going to work at home Thursday, remember?). So I go to Sedona’s for a beer. So then, there I am, forlornly standing on University Avenue waiting for my sister and desperately trying not to look like a bag person or someone who would be fun to mug. And my sister drives right by me. Luckily, when University dead-ends aL the campus, she U-turns around and begins to come back down University, and so I’m able to flag her. She tells me that the same thing happened to my other sister’s car, and that it was that her battery was bone dry. Sounded good to me.

So we decide to get some distilled water and try jump-starting my car again. So we go to 7-11, but they don’t sell distilled water. So we go to Kragen’s, and they don’t sell distilled water. So we go to Thrifty’s Jr., and they’re closed. So, finally, at Fred’s Market, I buy some distilled water. so we go back to the city garage and, by now, the garage attendant is beginning to eye me rather suspiciously. Go figure.

So we pop the hood on my car/ and there it is, in letters big enough to frame: DO NOT ADD WATER TO THIS BATTERY. (I’ve been toying with the idea of buying a gun, and I swear, if I had already had it I would have shot the car then and then!

So my sister gives me a ride home.  So the first thing I do is dig out of the garbage (fortunately, I hadn’t taken the garbage downto my Dad’s house for disposal yet) the taco-bell-sauce-splattered and stained invitiation to attend the authorized inventory reduction “event” at my local Ford dealership (which I now think I may go to – my will is being bent).  Anyway, so yesterday I worked at home (CCC and MIS stuff).  And today my brother gave me a ride into work and replaced the battery in my car.  It starts quicker ‘n ugliness on an ape now.  That’s it.  As Ed from the Bartles & James commercials would say,  “Thanks you for your support.”

P.S.  Is is any wonder I get a ticket for jaywalking?

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3 comments
  1. Layton said:

    What’s really funny is that for me Life has only gotten more Kurt Vonnegutan!

  2. forumtfs said:

    Do tell. For the rest of us, well we’ve gotten so much saner. Yeah, we no longer have bizarre days. Yeah, yeah. Right?

  3. forumtfs said:

    By the way – I forgot to say, your story, Layton, brought back so many memories of that parking garage with its odd hours. I had to get in at 6 am to support Vic and that damned garage didn’t open until 8. And then I think it closed at 9 or 10 which meant you’d be car-less until the next morning if you had to work late. It was wonderful writing. Thanks for the memory – jan.

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