I think Honda is mocking me after the nightmare (part ten?) she put me through this past weekend. She’s running exceptionally well.I want to put her in the corner but now she’s behaving. Little brat.
Friday night I planned to meet with some very dear friends whom I’ve missed for a long time. I got off work early, took my place in the slowly inching parking lot we call the 5 South, and sat tight. Honda was jerking and groaning and making me car sick—but that’s to be expected when the poor thing never got to go over 8 mph.
2 and a half hours later, and only just north of Irvine, south of L.A., I noticed the overheating needle was attempting to crawl out of the ceiling of my dashboard, i.e.: really overheated.
Ok, no worries. Just turn on the heater and she’ll be fine again.
The heat resulted in soaking me with my own sweat and removing any semblance of oxygen from the car. I stuck my head out the window gasping for air. As Honda rolled down a little hill in the freeway I saw the red break lights of the car in front of me turn on so I smashed my breaks in response.
Stupid sucker went straight to the floor. I grabbed the emergency break and yanked. Images of the last two times this happened (once resulting in a baaad accident and once resulting in a tow and a near-heart attack) flashed before my eyes. My heart seemed to have beat its way into the back of my skull.
I wisely decided to slooooowly move off of the freeway. Surely the breaks would work once the car cooled down. I realize my logic seems skewed here, but just go with me.
Next thing I knew I was in what can only be described as the…uhh….hood? I’m not sure what it was. All I know is that I couldn’t read the signs--either because they were not in a language I knew or because they were too dilapidated. Everything seemed exceptionally dark. People seemed to walk around as shadows. Uniquely structured, broken down buildings appearing abandoned encircled a gas station that seemed like it should have a shining light over it and angels singing in the background.
One important and annoying detail in this saga—my cell phone was dying. Because it was dying I turned it off on the drive south and planned to turn it on and get directions to my friends’ house.
After I left a message for those friends and as I was leaving a message for my sisters (I yelled cross-streets into the phone) another good friend called through and listened to my panicked voice.
“I’m surrounded by very intimidating-looking men in a not-so-friendly-hood, my car is overheated, my breaks aren’t working and now my cell phone is dying!” I yelled.
Then the phone died.
I felt really, really badly for the anxiety I was certainly causing everyone. I was missing dinner to boot. No good, very bad night.
I can get out of this, right? I’m fairly resourceful. I’ve been stranded in places without a cell phone, without any knowledge of the language, or knowledge of the place for that matter. I survived. At least I know the language in the states, I thought. Or, most of it anyway.
Another group stranded in this location approached me. It was a small family.
“Do you know where we are? We’re lost.” The mother whined softly. “My girls won’t use the bathroom here because it’s soo scary.”
“No, sorry. I have absolutely no clue where we are other than that we are south of L.A.” I said with a flat tone that probably disclosed my exhaustion and frustration. From the sweat, chills from the cool air and my half-tousled half-flattened hair--I looked like I had West Nile Virus.
I checked Honda’s fluids as if I knew what I was doing. Under the glare of strange men I put on my super-duper-tough face. Yeah, I can fix a car. Filled up the radiator. Too much. It overflowed. Hopefully no animals or organisms who need all of their brain cells were anywhere around THAT bio-hazard.
I then looked at the oil. Not only was it extremely low, it was black. Crap.
At the counter of the gas station I requested oil.
“What kind?”
“Whatever you have.” I said.
“I mean, like is it 20/60 50/30..(ok I don’t know the exact fractions she was listing off but you get the idea) ?”
“It’s a 1988 Honda.” I answered. Her face stared at me as though I was the biggest moron on the planet. I was.
“Use fourteen.” I heard a man with a thick Spanish accent behind me say.
“Oh thank you,” I said. “I’ll take fourteen.”
“You mean forty?” She said. I looked at the man. He nodded and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah forty.”
So the kind man helped with my car. Apparently it worked on the overheating problem. Or perhaps it started working because I was languishing in a parking lot fit for obtaining any number of diseases. Whatever the reason—Honda was working. Her breaks, however, were still a bit sketchy. I could get her to stop, but I’m fairly certain I pulled a hamstring doing it.
I missed the birthday outing Desiree planned because I wanted to be down south for my friends and celebrate with Lindsey the next day. Instead I missed both events.
No good, very bad night.
And today? Honda is working just fine thankyouverymuch. Just stinking fine. Little biotch.
Friday night I planned to meet with some very dear friends whom I’ve missed for a long time. I got off work early, took my place in the slowly inching parking lot we call the 5 South, and sat tight. Honda was jerking and groaning and making me car sick—but that’s to be expected when the poor thing never got to go over 8 mph.
2 and a half hours later, and only just north of Irvine, south of L.A., I noticed the overheating needle was attempting to crawl out of the ceiling of my dashboard, i.e.: really overheated.
Ok, no worries. Just turn on the heater and she’ll be fine again.
The heat resulted in soaking me with my own sweat and removing any semblance of oxygen from the car. I stuck my head out the window gasping for air. As Honda rolled down a little hill in the freeway I saw the red break lights of the car in front of me turn on so I smashed my breaks in response.
Stupid sucker went straight to the floor. I grabbed the emergency break and yanked. Images of the last two times this happened (once resulting in a baaad accident and once resulting in a tow and a near-heart attack) flashed before my eyes. My heart seemed to have beat its way into the back of my skull.
I wisely decided to slooooowly move off of the freeway. Surely the breaks would work once the car cooled down. I realize my logic seems skewed here, but just go with me.
Next thing I knew I was in what can only be described as the…uhh….hood? I’m not sure what it was. All I know is that I couldn’t read the signs--either because they were not in a language I knew or because they were too dilapidated. Everything seemed exceptionally dark. People seemed to walk around as shadows. Uniquely structured, broken down buildings appearing abandoned encircled a gas station that seemed like it should have a shining light over it and angels singing in the background.
One important and annoying detail in this saga—my cell phone was dying. Because it was dying I turned it off on the drive south and planned to turn it on and get directions to my friends’ house.
After I left a message for those friends and as I was leaving a message for my sisters (I yelled cross-streets into the phone) another good friend called through and listened to my panicked voice.
“I’m surrounded by very intimidating-looking men in a not-so-friendly-hood, my car is overheated, my breaks aren’t working and now my cell phone is dying!” I yelled.
Then the phone died.
I felt really, really badly for the anxiety I was certainly causing everyone. I was missing dinner to boot. No good, very bad night.
I can get out of this, right? I’m fairly resourceful. I’ve been stranded in places without a cell phone, without any knowledge of the language, or knowledge of the place for that matter. I survived. At least I know the language in the states, I thought. Or, most of it anyway.
Another group stranded in this location approached me. It was a small family.
“Do you know where we are? We’re lost.” The mother whined softly. “My girls won’t use the bathroom here because it’s soo scary.”
“No, sorry. I have absolutely no clue where we are other than that we are south of L.A.” I said with a flat tone that probably disclosed my exhaustion and frustration. From the sweat, chills from the cool air and my half-tousled half-flattened hair--I looked like I had West Nile Virus.
I checked Honda’s fluids as if I knew what I was doing. Under the glare of strange men I put on my super-duper-tough face. Yeah, I can fix a car. Filled up the radiator. Too much. It overflowed. Hopefully no animals or organisms who need all of their brain cells were anywhere around THAT bio-hazard.
I then looked at the oil. Not only was it extremely low, it was black. Crap.
At the counter of the gas station I requested oil.
“What kind?”
“Whatever you have.” I said.
“I mean, like is it 20/60 50/30..(ok I don’t know the exact fractions she was listing off but you get the idea) ?”
“It’s a 1988 Honda.” I answered. Her face stared at me as though I was the biggest moron on the planet. I was.
“Use fourteen.” I heard a man with a thick Spanish accent behind me say.
“Oh thank you,” I said. “I’ll take fourteen.”
“You mean forty?” She said. I looked at the man. He nodded and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah forty.”
So the kind man helped with my car. Apparently it worked on the overheating problem. Or perhaps it started working because I was languishing in a parking lot fit for obtaining any number of diseases. Whatever the reason—Honda was working. Her breaks, however, were still a bit sketchy. I could get her to stop, but I’m fairly certain I pulled a hamstring doing it.
I missed the birthday outing Desiree planned because I wanted to be down south for my friends and celebrate with Lindsey the next day. Instead I missed both events.
No good, very bad night.
And today? Honda is working just fine thankyouverymuch. Just stinking fine. Little biotch.
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