This essay is a Marnie Classic written in April 2007 while Michael was in Iraq.
Actually I need to back up a bit. The story really starts on Wednesday when my daughter Alyssa, after six long months of waiting and fifty hours of experience, got her driver’s license. Yay for Alyssa—passed on the first time! Yay for me – no more driving her to school; well, as soon as she gets her parking pass—then, yay for me, no more driving her to school!
Fast forward to Friday night and enter Alyssa’s fashionable 1994 Pontiac Grand Prix: perhaps not the most beautiful of vehicles, but it gets you there and back. Paid off, pre-loved, and a predilection for absorbing oil at an alarming rate—fill up the gas tank and check the oil. To make sure Alyssa was prepared for this, I told her she had to check the oil before she drove it. So at 10:30pm (don’t ask), we were out in the parking lot with the hood popped up. Wipe off dipstick, stick dipstick in, check the level. And shock of shockers, we were a quart low. Too late to buy needed oil, that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Put dipstick back in…..errrrrrrrrr (insert sound of record scratching – not sure how to spell that).
"Uh, Mom?"
"Why, yes my darling daughter!" That’s how I speak to my daughter, but it may have come out "WHAT?"
"It broke."
"What do you mean it broke?" I look over at her to see the dipstick in one hand and the dipstick handle in the other. "Well, hmmmm…" Never had that happen before. Searching memory bank—nope, not sure what to do. "I guess I’ll go to the car part store tomorrow and buy another one." The two piece dipstick was safely tucked away in the van for future errand, and then firmly erased from memory bank. I obviously need more RAM.
I proceed to tease Alyssa mercilessly about breaking her car because it brings me great joy. What can I say – I’m evil!
Now comes Saturday. Alyssa is due at a friend’s house to take portraits of them because they are wearing fancy duds for the Submarine Ball. She talks to them around 2:45 to say she doesn’t need a ride since she now has her license. They say great, can you be here at 3:30 instead of four then to give us extra time?
She says no problem, and tells me. She needs to leave at 3:00 since they live 20+ minutes away.
I say "oh saltines!"—there is no time now to go to forgotten car part store. What should I do? So I call my dad.
Dad says yes, for safety’s sake, the hole needs to be plugged. Use part of a dowel rod, a rolled up rag, or even, he says cleverly, a carrot.
"A carrot?" I’m surprised by that solution, but hey, what do I know about cars?
Sure, he says, just something to keep the oil from accidentally spilling.
Now I envision myself out by the car slowly peeling a carrot to get it to the proper dimension to plug the dreaded hole. While this idea does certainly entertain me, there just isn’t time for that now either. I hand the keys of my precious minivan to my daughter, threaten to beat her if she hurts it, and kiss her on the cheek as she walks out the door.
After she leaves, I settle down to play on the computer. Clicking on the keyboard (backspace in particular) works up quite a thirst. Off to the kitchen to get large carbonated beverage and I notice Alyssa’s camera on the counter. Oh, Alyssa needs to put her camera—“oh sugar blossoms!" Alyssa’s camera!
I call the friends and say I’ll be there momentarily (twenty minutes) with the camera. Run to grab shoes and realize that I have no dipstick or no peeled carrot: A rolled up paper towel will have to do. Drive carefully to mini mart to buy oil (20mph speed limit on base). Insert oil. Drive carefully to gate. Drive through gate, and speed up significantly.
I arrive a little later than planned, hand off the camera, and grab the keys to my beloved mini van. The kid can drive the unairconditioned car back.
On the way home, I decide now would be a good time to replace the dipstick. Pull into tiny parking lot at car place and think it must be my lucky day – there is a place to park! Then I realize no one wants to park there because it is closed. Bummer! Then the phone rings.
"Mom," Alyssa voice is wavering. All the fears of my poor defenseless teenage daughter driving alone dance through my head, "there is smoke coming out from underneath the car!" Oh my!
She tells me where she has cleverly parked, and I’m off racing down the roads again to rescue her. When I find her, I see no smoke so I have her drive through the parking lot; still no smoke. Well, I think, maybe the paper towel dipstick substitute has caught on fire. No, that wasn’t it either.
We come up with the plan of me driving behind Alyssa. If the car starts smoking again, we'll pull over and park again. And we made it halfway back before, sure enough, white smoke is coming from underneath the car. I follow Alyssa as she pulls – gasp – onto the access road alongside the highway. We end up parking in front of a small used car dealership.
Since I don’t know of any tow services off hand, we drive to the large Army base to see if the auto shop there tows. They give me the card of a service, and we drive home to call because I don’t know the name of the street where we abandoned the car.
We get home, and my Mapquest search for the address comes up empty. They have no record of the car dealership… none, zip; it doesn’t exist according to them. I am given 120 other auto sales options, but not the one we need.
It finally occurs to me to try the yellow pages online. They have the phone number of the business, but no address. I end up calling the dealership, and the nice man gives me the address. Then I call the tow truck driver, and arrange to meet him in ten minutes.
Whew!
The whole ordeal was stressful and inconvenient, but in many ways we were very lucky:
- When I arrived back at the car, the tow truck was already loading it up. No long waits for the evil tow truck to arrive, and the driver was very kind to me.
- The place our car was towed to closed ten minutes after we arrived. If we would have had to wait on the tow truck, the auto repair shop would already be closed for the weekend—then what would I have done?
- The auto repair shop had an opening Monday to look at the car.
- When we applied for Alyssa’s schoool parking pass, at the last minute we put my minivan, what she would be dring while hers was in the shop, down as an alternate vehicle. Cars without passes actually get parking tickets.
- Most importantly, Alyssa is safe and unharmed. She didn’t panic, was able to find a parking place quickly, and she was able to contact me immediately. It was a beautiful day not pouring down rain on an unlit road at 2am (been there, done that).
Alyssa and I learned a lot today. She knows now that she is able to handle driving under less than stellar conditions. I found out what a resourceful young lady she is, and that she can continue to make me proud.
After all that I’m exhausted! I’m going to sit in the recliner and put my feet up. And eat a carrot.
P.S. Dipstick update:
The friendly car shop said after they fix our big green baby—with the oil dripping onto the exhaust thereby causing the offensive smoke—I can bail out the car for the low low price of $500. It's actually cheaper than I was afraid, and maybe now I don't need to consider buying stock in 5W30 oil.
And poor deluded Alyssa: She was hoping I'd just buy her a new car!
