The Conclusion to a Maddening Week of, well, Madness!

Or it’s not OK to molest men who come to your aid
Or the importance of car maintenance

Welcome back my dear readers to the HOPEFUL conclusion of my car woes. When you last checked in we had a free oil change and the offer to yell at someone not related to me or a dear friend. My car successfully started after getting the corrosion removed from my lines. I was elated and thought my bad luck over… I may have thought this just a smidge too soon. As I was again late yesterday to work, I know this is a shocker, I was nearly to work after successfully starting my car some 40 minutes earlier. The finish line was practically in sight.


A fine traffic day on Park Avenue West

I was just exiting the I-70 to I-25 to Park Avenue West change and headed into the city when, as every other morning, traffic catches up and I am forced to stop and wait for lights and those idiot drivers that fly by me in the left lane only to cut into traffic way up the line and hold every one else up (this is a gripe for another day). Traffic begins to move and in my wonderful driving skills let my foot off of my clutch and tit bit too quickly and my car dies. Shit! Double shit at the fact it will not start. Something like George Carlin’s 7 words fly through my mind on a repeat loop and I am completely and TOTALLY freaking out. I am shaking like a leaf. I have NO clue what to do. So I call 9-1-1. I am happy they no longer ask what the nature of your emergency is because if you are calling chances are likely you just need immediate help and not to confirm the fact it is of an emergent nature. I tell this nice lady I am stalled on the offramp headed towards downtown and she says this “Can I get your address?” …MmmK, let me try this another way. I am IN MY CAR, stalled on the highway surrounded by traffic. It seems we are having a breakdown in communication and in my ever snarky way ask her, “Are you from Denver?” She confirms she is so I start giving her landmarks “You know the La Quinta…” Finally we work out I am on Park Avenue West and Delgany. She will dispatch help and we hang up. ((The above picture is Park Avenue West where I was sitting not far from where this picture was taken. This was, however, taken on a day when may car was working properly.))

I sit there mortified watching the cars weave and fly around me. When all of a sudden Big Black Thunder Truck rolls up in front of me, throws it in reverse and comes to a halt a foot or so in front of my car. Stranger in blue jeans gets out and asks me if I need to be pulled out of traffic. Here begins my utter girlness; I tell the stranger I need a jump. Kudos to him for politely telling me, yeah I don’t think that is gonna work, but I can pull you to a parking lot and jump you there. Sure I tell him, that will be just great. Now, let me tell you, if you have never had your car pulled while you are in it, it’s not an experience I suggest you participate in. Let me tell you why: when the slack comes out of that rope, you and your vehicle are snapped somewhat violently into motion; this is gonna scare the crap out of you. Your car is also more than likely in a completely seized up state which means turning the wheel, pumping the brakes, navigation of any kind is gonna be really difficult. All of this while you are on the phone with 9-1-1 again, because you were told to call back if anything changed, and relaying that you are being pulled by someone, to a man of all people, and the car snaps into motion and it scares the daylights out of you and you yelp in the phone and the man on the other end of the line says “Ma’am!” quite forcefully to get your attention and bring you back into the here and now and… Whew. In all I would suggest not having to go down that road. Road, get it? See what I did there? Hahaa Ok, so this savior stranger gets me to a parking lot and jumps my car and I didn’t know how to thank him enough. He could have asked for my purse or shoes or Granny and I would have given them all to him. (Sorry Gran)

I get to work and call my mechanic. He gives me lines about the alternator having dead charges, the starter, electrical issues but he needs to see it. I tell him I will try and find someone to come over with me so I can have it looked at. At the point I get off the phone the emotions fray and I begin to cry because as I keep saying, I’m not built for car emergency situations, I simply cannot handle them in a clear way and am consistently reduced to tears. So what do I do, I call Dad. Now when you talk to Dad you have to remain calm because he does not really deal well with hysterical crying daughter. He confirms I should take it to someone I trust and not back to Sears, yes it could be any of those things. I’m sure he was wondering why I called cause he didn’t say much, tears I tell ya, turns things bad every time. Enter dear workmate and her NEW vehicle who jumps me, follows me to the mechanic and brings me back to work. She is a champ even when dealing with my tear stained face and blubbering.

The diagnosis? Completely shot starter. I was getting lucky that the jumps were turning my car over. It would get to the point where doing this would cause damage to the car so it was up to me but this is what needed to happen and unfortunately it’s labor intensive and a pricey part. I bite the bullet and get the work done because what else can I do, it has to eventually happen and I can’t keep jumping the car every time I get in it? So here we are the next day, I have less money in my bank account, my car is starting of it’s own volition and I’m only slightly panicked every time I have to get in it. In time this may fade…right?

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