it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

Can I get there by candlelight?

First off, if you are interested in the deeper mechanics of fantasy and science fiction and all their wicked stepchildren, it seems to me that you could do worse than to read the Deep Genre weblog. Because yes. Much enthusiastic nodding. Often over mutually exclusionary points.

Anybody know if there's an lj feed?




In other news, commodorified and I were going to head down to Mystic yesterday so I could show her the tall ships and the waterfront. Unfortunately, on Route 2 in Colchester, Eunice The Little Red Truck began to vibrate violently, an oscillation that rapidly became a shudder. We pulled over and inspected, decided that the passenger side front tire might be a little soft, and resolved to pull off the next exit to find a service station.

Oddly enough, I couldn't get the hazard lights off, but we decided it might be better to have them on, anyway.

We pulled out cautiously, and as we came up to about 40 MPH, there was a sudden, loud thumping sound. Of course, at this point, there was no more shoulder. We slowed down, pulled into the climbing lane, and decided that we were not going to make it to the exit and that the safest place to stop was at the very top of the hill, where there was some shoulder to kind of hunker over into.

Pulled over, got out, inspected....

That tire commodorified thought was maybe a little soft? The front passenger side one?

There was an eight-inch diagonal rip across the tread.

We made big eyes at each other, shared a silent moment of there but for the grace of god, and got out the jack. (For your reference, it was 95 degrees and about 60% humidity.)

...and could not budge the lug nuts. Which I had had tightened by a mechanic after the last tire I changed myself. And yanno, he seems to have taken the request a bit seriously.

So we decided, fuck it, we have Triple A for a reason.

Of course, we couldn't get a connection on my cellphone, so we dug hers out and got through (for some reason they routed us to New Jersey, but after about half an hour of trying we got everything sorted) and I 'splained summed up while commodorified got the snacks and cold drinks out of the cab of the truck. We hiked about ten feet up the hillside to get (a) away from the traffic (b) into the shade (c) out of the blast zone if some moron plowed into the back of the truck and settled in for a wait.

Half an hour later, a lovely gentleman, representative of Connecticut Troop K (they're sort of legend in the state, and that stretch of road is known as Troop K Country around these parts) pulled over and asked if somebody was coming for us. When assured that we had called the AAA, he was kind enough to sit three car lengths behind Eunice with his flashers on and do his paperwork.

Ten minutes later, another smokey pulled up behind the first one (regulation three car lengths), got out, waved to us up on the hillside (commodorified: "Do you think the drinks wil hold out?") and stuck his head in the passenger side window of the first car, where they had a confab for about ten minutes.

Second smokey: (calling up the hillside to us) "Your tow truck got hung up on a lockout; he should be here in about fifteen."

Two Stranded Girls In Skimpy Tank Tops: "Thanks! Want a tonic water?"

Fifteen minutes later, my partner in crime nudges my shoulder and points. On the other side of the highway, the welcome silhouette of a flatbed tow truck.... and yellow lights as he slows down for the turnaround. He pulls in ahead of Eunice, creating a sort of cop-cop-littleredtruck-flatbed club sandwich, and wanders over to us as we scramble down the hill. "You have a problem here?"

He's from the company I was told to expect, so I start in pointing him to the shredded tire and so on and so forth.

Tow Truck Guy: (NOT OOGLING) "So, you girls have Triple A?

Me: "Oh, they didn't send you?"

Tow Truck Guy: "No, but I'm a provider, it's okay."

Meanwhile, a second tow truck pulls up in front of the first. For those of you playing along at home, the menage-a-internalcombustionvehicle now runs: cop-cop-littleredtruck-flatbed-flatbed. Current assembled personnel: two smokeys, two grease monkeys, two stranded girls in skimpy tank tops.

commodorified: "We're going to need more chips."

Second Tow Truck Guy: (NOT OOGLING) "Hey, where's your spare?"

First Tow Truck Guy: (pointing at cop cars) "So, those lazy bastards wouldn't help you with the lug nuts?"

Second Tow Truck Guy: "I'll get the jack."

First tow truck guy was laughing at us, too, until he hit the third lug nut. And his buddy had to come give him a hand. Mmm. Biceps.

Second Tow Truck Guy: (quietly, upon inspecting the damage to the tire) "Holy. This isn't flat. How did it not blow?"

First Tow Truck Guy: (even more quietly) "Guess it was those ladies' lucky day."

commodorified: "I blame Bear. She was smart enough to pull over when it felt funny."

matociquala: "Eunice saved us all. She is a Good Truck."

Epilogue: First Tow Truck Guy reached in, grabbed the toggle for the hazard lights, and flicked it off no problem. The crisis, apparently, was over.

I wonder if my truck can tell me when Timmy is down the well.




Final count: one blown tire at 65, requiring: two cell phones, two state troopers, two tow truck guys, $100,000 worth of towing equipment, two bottles of tonic water, half a bag of smartfood, $8.00 in tips, and a bonding experience.


***
Tags: peregrinations, quotidiana
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