I would swear the gods or somethings have it in for me but I'm not sure it isn't just, you know, life.
HAHAHA! I leave the house at 11:30 my Aunty's car, one I am obviously not insured for and I don't even know if the registration is in the glove compartment. Sweet, right? But I am a relatively safe person, and because the car hasn't been used in months, I check the oil gas tires etc. before pulling out of the driveway. Good girl.
I lie, didn't really check the oil, but everything else, HELLS YEAH. Halfway to the city I fill up, 25 minutes with the line backed up all the way into the highway. The gas station is surprisingly busy at midnight.
Over the bridge and then down through the upper East Side, cruising down the highway, smoking like a chimney because I'm tired and Because I Can. And then over the next bridge. This means ten minutes to HOME (or at least to my neighborhood and PARKING HELL) and then the damn car doesn't move when the light turns green.
Yeah, ack. I spend 2 minutes trying to find the hazards and when I figure that out, I think it is a good time to call my good old sis and wake her up. Thank you, Mum for making me take your cell phone. A thousand thanks and a blessing on your head.
This is when I realize that the oil indicater is way below low. 'I AM STOOPID' I tell sis. 'WAIT, SORRY FOR WAKING YOU AT ONE IN THE MORNING, THERE IS A GAS STATION ACROOSS THE STREET. I WILL CROSS AND USE MY YOUNG FEMININE CHARM TO BE WITLESS HELPLESS AND GET HELP', I say. I turn off my phone and turn off the lights, (but not the hazards, as I'm still at a dead halt in the turning lane) and turn off ignintion. WAIT. IGNITION IS ALREADY OFF.
'Yeah, I AM STOOPID', I tell sis when I call back. I start the engine and all warning lights go off. Make the turn. I must have made it too wide or too narrow, one of the two, and there is a slight grazing against car next to me. But they don't honk or flash their lights so I figure we're cool and don't pull over.
Four lights later they pull up to me roll down their window. Like innocent and sorry, 'Do You Want Me To Pull Over', I ask meekly. 'HELLZ YEAH', he says. I do and he does and we get out of our respective cars. I am clutching my cell phone like a life saver or something.
'LOOK MA'AM, I JUST GOT MY CAR CLEANED' 'Just got it cleaned' his girlfriend echoes. 'Sorry', I say. 'You made that turn bad when you was talking on yer cellphone', he says. 'When they cut those new laws I hope they outlaw thos damn things', his girlfriend chimes in. 'I expect compensation' he says. 'I'm Really Sorry', I say, 'I have like, four bucks cash on me and that's it.' 'No ATM card?' He says. 'Mumble mumble this time of night', I say.
Gesturing and nobly talking about 'Don't want to bother getting no insurance involved' he checks my scratches and I make a polite contrite show of being interested in his. 'This your car' he says. 'It's my Mum's', I lie, and I fish out the four bucks in my pocket and mumble mumble discover it is, indeed, only four dollars. Pleaselordlethimtakethisandthatwillbethat I pray and he takes it with a splendid show of reluctant settling.
He drives off. So do I, giggling and trembling and lighting another smoke and mumbling stuff like 'I Am Stoopid' and 'Jane You Are Stoopid' and 'Man That Was Stoopid'. But it worked and I'm safe and now I'm seven minutes from home.
The car stalls at the next light. And at the next. But I am better at this by now and quick with the shift to park-restart ignition-shift to drive-accelerate choreography and make it in only six minutes. Ten minutes to find parking is not bad for 1 a.m. and now I'm home safe.
Thank you lord for I was stoopid and I have fucked up and that car is loopy and here is a bed I think I might fall into good sleep now like drowning.