10:01 a.m. - 2002-12-05
A Hell Of A Day
This entry is going to be really discombobulated, because yesterday was the day from Hell. HELL, folks, HELL!!HELL!!
Our serpentine belt broke on Interstate 65 at 70 miles an hour.
We were just outside of Birmingham when we heard the sickening thunkathunkathunk, and the battery and brakes lights went on. If I had been driving there would have been a twenty car pile up, but Bruce put on the flashers, slowed down and ever so deftly changed lanes and pulled to the side of the road.
To make things oh, so much more hellacious, I had been up till 2 a.m. for the previous three nights, we had all the stuff for the installation crammed into the back, and to top it off we had Burma in a carrier in the backseat. She was going down to finally have her stitches removed. I had visions of her getting loose, putting a fabulous cap on a really lousy situation.
It actually wasn't so bad. About thirty seconds after we pulled over a highway assistance truck pulled up. I'm not really clear on what these people actually do, since they don't actually tow you and they also don't really make recommendations of who you can call. But it is very nice to see a friendly face when you're sitting in a dead car by the side of the road, so I'm grateful for that.
The assistance guy waited while I called Bare Hands. Wendy wasn't there but Rachel, her assistant, was. She knew a fabulous mechanic, she said. We should just call PTL Auto! She and her parents had been going to them for years! And they had a towing company that they worked with, so they could arrange all that for us.
Hooray for Rachel! Hooray for PTL Auto!
And here I have to go into a little rant. In case you didn't pick up on this, "PTL" stands for "Praise The Lord". I was a little concerned because we have some pretty wild bumperstickers. Nothing sacriligious but I'm sure our feelings about religion could be guessed. I shouldn't have been concerned.
Despite all my raving about nasty, intolerant Christians, there is a type of Christian in the South that I never came across up North. The type that actually takes what Jesus said seriously. Especially the thing about "love thy neighbor as thyself." They really like this one. I once watched an acquaintance of ours, Betty, giving some bigoted asshole hell because he didn't like gay people. "You know what?" she raved, "Them gay folks aren't going to hell 'cuz God don't care who you're fornicatin' with!! YOUR the one who's goin' to hell because God said you should love EVERYBODY! And you're not lovin' EVERYBODY! And that's God's WILL! If you don't love EVERYBODY as YOURSELF then you're gonna' go to HELL!!"
Right on, Betty! Tell it, Sister!
Anyway, I really generally like these people because: 1) They aren't bigoted assholes. 2) They don't proselytise, or however you spell it, as much as other Christian groups. 3)They do seriously try to take care of other people (think Habitat For Humanity) and 4) They always seem like they are on heavy doses of Ecstasy. Really, they are the smilingest folks! You feel happy just standing next to them!
So, the folks at PTL couldn't be happier to help out two souls in trouble. They sent out a wonderful wrecker man who assured me that Burma would be fine in the car (I had visions of the Toyota coming off the tow bar and Burma and the car skidding across the highway) and he even offered to wait while we dropped off the car and then take us to a car rental place, so we wouldn't have to take a cab. What a nice guy!
And the folks at PTL were lovely, too. They asked if we were ok, did we have a place to stay? Did we have a rental lined up? Did we need to leave the car for a few days till we could get back to Birmingham? Did we need a cup of coffee? Was our cat ok? Did our cat need a cup of coffee?
No, actually they didn't ask if Burma needed a cup of coffee. But one of the mechanics did offer her some baloney out of his sandwich.
I sat and waited in their little waiting area while Bruce and the tow driver went for the car. There were a couple of well worn little New Testaments next to the Smithsonians. The owners son talked to me about how he had hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. We had a little talk about Harper's Ferry, because it's one of my favorite places in the world, and then he asked me about the Northern sections of the trail, which he was hoping to hike next year.
And then Bruce came back with a spiffy Chevy Cavalier. Oooh, I felt so sad leaving the Toyota there. I love that car. It's a valiant old car and it's been very good to us. I hope it gets fixed ok....
We loaded all the stuff and poor Miss Burma into the new car and went over to Bare Hands, where we were greeted with big hugs and cups of tea. I hate to sound sappy, but it was so nice to get there and see friendly faces and feel like, ah, we were not alone in the world after all! There were, in fact, people who loved us and were worrying about us and weren't going to let us get stranded.
Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!
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We had taken up so much time with the car that Bruce had to rush off to make last call at Burma's vet, while I started the installation. It's always sort of a rush for me to do this, because it's the culmination of months of work, but yet there's always the worry that it won't look right, or something unanticipated will happen.
Nothing unanticipated happened. And, in fact, some of the work that I hated actually looked a ton better once it got into the gallery. It's as though Bare Hands has a Gallery Fairy that waves her magic wand and all of a sudden the most pathetic, crapass piece looks like real art!
It was going so well that when Bruce got back I suggested he just go sleep in the car. I didn't really need help, and he, understandably, looked dog-tired.
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