I drove out to my South Bend digs today to move some stuff in for the fall (going to Notre Dame Law School). On the way out from the Chicago area, the radio plays this song. Not to be out-done, on the way back, about half a minute after I pass a truck belonging to one Thomas Stoner (yes, really), the radio plays this song (yes, really).
But the real story starts earlier on the return trip, when the engine suddenly starts screaming and going 6000 RPM. Yes, I blew the transmission. 120 miles from home.
The usual litany of curse words ran through my head, and as the final, filthy "taxes" echoed away into the roar of passing traffic, I called up a tow truck and buckled down for a nice long sink-Jim's-iPad-fund ride. (Because I'm going to be away for the next two weeks and don't want to leave my car in freaking Indiana,* I had to have it towed all the way back home.)
The truck driver was awesome. He told me a bunch of stories that I won't repeat here because, well, part of their hilarity depended on his delivery. But he's seen some pretty crazy stuff. And from now on I will never just slow down when I see a car on the side of the road; I will always get in the other lane.
*I have nothing against Indiana. At the risk of re-injecting politics into this blog, I can't wait to be the taxes out of Illinois and into a state that actually seems to have a few IQ points in its government. But leaving it there would force me to either use my mom's steers-like-a-cow car, or my dad's car.
No comments:
Post a Comment