You'd think that since my dad is a mechanic, my cars would always run beautifully, right? Not true. Yesterday morning I had my worst morning of the entire quarter so far. Everyone left my house by 7:45; Caleb and Audrey for school, Dad for work, and Mom for jury duty. I had a Spanish quiz, so my plan was to go in early and study at the library. This plan probably saved me much pain...
My car got a flat tire sometime over the weekend and my dad hadn't had a chance to fix it yet. I had no idea how to fix it because I always just think, "Well, why do I need to with a mechanic for a dad?" So the plan was for me to drive the Ford F-150, which hasn't been used since we went camping in August because it's a gas hog. At about 8:00, I walked out to the truck and tried to start it. It wouldn't do anything.
I had expected as much because it hadn't been started in so long, but I still had hoped that it would start. I considered my options. Push the huge truck up the driveway to my car and jump it, push the car with a flat down to the truck, drive the car with a flat down to the truck, or call my dad. Guess which I chose?
It was about 8:20 by the time my dad got there and used a spiffy little machine thing to jump it. Then I sat there and revved the engine so it would warm up. Finally, I decided it had been long enough and put it in reverse. It promptly died. I got out and used the machine which my dad had left to jump it again, then tried to put it in reverse again. No dice. I repeated that process, and then finally jumped it and sat in the truck for about 10 minutes doing the homework I was going to do in the library. Then I tried reverse again, and yet again it died. By this time I was incredibly frustrated and began calling the battery some pretty mean names. (You know, idiotic, moronic, stupid, etc.) I jumped it again and called my dad. "I think you should be able to put it in gear now," he told me.
Great, I thought. It's fine as long as I'm on the gas, but as soon as I brake for a stoplight on the Guide, it's gonna die on me again. Jolly. It was about 8 minutes til nine, and I was beginning to panic. I needed to be to class by 9:30. Again considered my options. I thought of all my friends at school and if they were in class yet or not. Finally I called my friend Caleb who wasn't at school yet, but was at work and needed to be at school at around the same time as me. Even though he was also having car and alarm troubles, he sped out to my house and we got to school at 9:25.
I was so stressed out the rest of the day because of my eventful morning, which is why this is the blog I'm posting rather than the deep and eloquent one I was thinking up over the weekend. Oh well.