Car Trouble in Paradise

Before this story even begins, it must be perfectly understood that we were down to one working car for the time being. My husband's car, a completely paid off Toyota, was in the shop getting a new transmission. So he was bumming rides to and from work while I was on vacation with the kids in not-so-sunny Galveston in the not-so-paid off Honda....

Now the story begins...

The week that "historic" Tropical Storm Bill was to make landfall on the Texas gulf coast I was in fact on the Texas gulf coast. No, I'm not crazy. I'm a local. It was the week of my mom's birthday and we were celebrating it, as we always do, in Galveston. A little rain wasn't going to scare us off.

On the way to their beach house, a little light came on on the dashboard in my Honda. I didn't think much of it, other than the fact that I should probably get it checked out before Bill made landfall. So I went about my way. I made it safely to my parents' little hideaway and didn't have cause to start the car again until the next day.

I was secretly hoping that this would be one of those cases of the disappearing dash lights. You know, when it comes on for no good reason and then disappears for no good reason, too. But alas, it was not meant to be. The darn thing was still on. So we went to the beach.

And that was one of the best times I have had at the beach in a long time. The waves were choppy and rough and perfect for playing in with my daughters. My son was being a bum and chose not to go. Ever since last month when his teen-aged hormones dictated that he is (and I quote), "not a beach person." It was truly his loss. I think the water even seemed a little clearer that day. I know that the chief complaint about our part of the gulf is its murky brown color, but I still love it. The tide was high, the water was cool and we beat the storm.

When I returned to the house I decided to take the car in to Autozone for a free check out before the rain really started. At this point we had only been subjected to a few very brief showers. My son and my oldest daughter volunteered to keep me company and we made our way through crowded, lunch-time streets to Autozone.

They were super friendly and I wish I could remember their names, but at any rate, they didn't judge me on my lack of car expertise. The woman in the shop came out and ran the check engine test on my car. Nothing. No codes. My car was in tip top shape. Turns out that when the light that comes on on your dash looks like a battery, it's the "It's Your Battery Dumb Ass" light and not the "Check Engine" light. Oops.

I thanked her kindly and promised to get a new battery as soon as I got back home.

But the cards were stacked against me. I got back in the car, with my two lovely children, and click. Click. CLICK. I got nothing. The battery died in the parking lot of the Autozone. I guess it was meant to be. So in I marched, kids in tow, again, and this time I bought a battery.

We had to wait a really long time to have it installed because the gentleman that installed it couldn't leave the lady alone in the store with a bunch of customers. And wouldn't you know it? That seems to be when they hit their rush hour. For close to an hour the kids and I sat in the parking lot and waited. But once it was finally done it seemed as though it was all tip top shape. Right? Wrong. The gentleman helping me ran a final check on the battery and oh, so apologetically informs me that it's not the battery that's the problem, it's my alternator.

But will I make it home to the Houston area?

You should.

Great. That's all I need to know.

So I go back home to the beach house and we get rained on by Bill. Actually we spent most of it out on the porch, drinking and visiting. The rain was only a nuisance at night when it was heaviest and the wind kept waking me up.

Six months ago I had made a commitment to my long time friend, Ed Vela, who coaxed me out of retirement for one night only to appear on stage as part of a workshop. So I had to come back in town on Wednesday to help him out with that. Between talks with my husband and friends we had come up a first, second, third, contingency and back-up plan to get me back home. I had also secured a ride to the theater that night (once I made it home) to further lessen the need to drive. Wednesday morning rolls around and by 8:45 I am off.

My mom follows me to a gas station where I top off my tank. It would suck to get almost all the way home with a bad alternator just to run out of gas. Then I kiss her good-bye and we part ways. I'm driving and I'm driving. No radio, a/c, lights, nothing. Then I hit a red light. My hands are literally shaking I am so nervous. But I make it through that light. On to the next one. Each light it seems that my poor car is struggling more and more to get through the idling. Finally I think that it's going to die. I'm in the left lane (because I-45 is a left exit) so I get in the left turn lane to turn into a parking lot and that's where I die.

It won't start. No lights. No nothing.

I put on my big panties and call my husband, Victor. But as soon as I hear his voice - waterworks. He keeps asking me if I'm okay but I'm crying so hard that I can't answer. Finally I manage to get out, "I.. can't... get... off... the... island." He works his magic and gets me to calm down despite the asshole behind me, blaring his horn, refusing to go around. He reminds me of what I'm supposed to do next and gets me to do it one deep breath at a time.

Call roadside assistance from the number on the back of my license, call our friend Jeremy to come have me towed and call my mom to come keep me company. Roadside assistance gives me the number of Galveston Police Department and Jeremy and my mom are on their way. I flip on the hazards (even though everything is dead) and leave the car where it is. I go across to the parking lot, because if someone hits me from behind I don't want to get hurt. That's where I sit on a bench with the homeless people. They ignored me but I was very chatty and I think one of them was a woman.

I keep calling GPD but their number was eternally busy. Finally I see a cruiser passing by and try to flag him down. He pulls up behind my poor car, whose hazard lights have magically started working. I'm shouting at him, "That's my car!" He nods and says that he saw me. He waves me over to his side of the street where I tell him my whole story, big girls panties barely hanging on. He says I did everything right but that I had the wrong number for the police department. Guess I should have Googled it. And then we push my car to the parking lot I had been aiming for the whole time. I gave Officer Shepherd a give hug and thanked him profusely.

By now, my mom has witnessed me acting a fool in front of the GPD, seen me get stranded and had to leave the kids home alone, so she took me to breakfast and window shopping while we waited for my friend. When Jeremy got there, she was able to go back to the house to reassure the kids I was in good hands.

Jeremy was able to help me out by getting me towed back to Houston and take me home. At first the tow truck was coming at 12:05. Then it was 1:05. Then it finally came at :1:40. We finally left Galveston around 2:00. I had to be back by 4:00 to go to the theater. I got home at 3:40. Jeremy is my hero.

Victor got a ride home that night but we were without my car for another 24 hours. I never made it back to the coast to finish out my vacation. But the kids got to spend extra alone time with my parents. Planned or unplanned, those are memories that they will always have.

And we did eventually get our other car back, too. First world problems, I know. But it was still quite a little adventure. One I don't plan on repeating...