The Old Fat Lady & Her Dipshit Son

RJ45: I swear by the All Mighty that I have the worst car luck in the entire galaxy.

Brynna: Bad car karma being what it is. The only thing Rich and I can figure is that he must’ve beaten horses in a previous lifetime. Like Messala in Ben Hur with the spikes on his chariot wheels. Heh. Maybe he WAS Messala.

RJ45:  Well, if that is the case, at least I made a name for myself! Now, going back to the situation as Murphy’s Law oh so dictates, we have another rather pleasant experience with car trouble.

Brynna: Which, given Rich’s car karma, isn’t anything new around here. Fuck, he can’t even get his driver’s license back because our insurance company stopped issuing SR22’s for the State of Illinois.

RJ45: Yeah, I feel like Rain Man after awhile when Raymond keeps on saying in the movie, “I’m an excellent driver,” but no one will let him drive a damn car!

After my mom and I have what is quite possibly the most mature argument EVER over batteries, we head onto the open interstate so my mother can drop me off at my fiancé’s … In the middle of a serious conversation over people crapping their pants (I fucking swear to God that is what we were talking about), the car starts to freak out... and of course, so do I.

Brynna: We were discussing why people choose their mates, and got into a rather colorful conversation about a mutual friend of ours having … bowel difficulties in a restaurant, and how the lady accompanying him didn’t make fun of him, but rather was concerned. That pretty much made his decision for him.

During this conversation, the car suddenly surged forward, the RPM meter went way up and I said, “What the fuck is THAT?” Going 65 mph, mind you. Rich’s eyes get as large as saucers; I kill the cruise control and get over in the right lane. One thing, though. I was NOT gonna pull over to that shoulder. For those that live in the Peoria, Illinois area, we were going down Interstate 474, approximately near the Farmington Road exit. Right in the middle of nowhere. The car starts slowing down a bit but I keep it going, Check Engine light starts flashing, Rich is getting that “I’m gonna panic” look on his face. I keep muttering about the Airport Road exit coming up and praying the car gets that far, and finally coast up the exit ramp to the right turn lane, where the car finally dies.

RJ45: So after we are pulled over, we pop that hood open. You know, because I know SO MUCH about how a car operates and all.

Brynna: Yeah, the kid is so mechanically inclined … tried. I swear I tried. I finally got out, checked the oil and turned a hundred shades of white. Nothing. Nada. SHIT. One of the things about driving at night is when the car throws a rod you don’t see the white smoke ala James Bond coming out of the rear view mirror. Or maybe I was too preoccupied trying to find an exit.

RJ45: After determining that the car is fucked, now our next decision on what to do next. I could attempt to head over to a service station that was a 15 to 20 minute walk. However, what if someone then pulled over and handed my mom a phone? What happens to me? Not only that, but I won’t wearing any fucking socks!

Brynna: Crazy kid wouldn’t stop pacing. Talk about a type >A personality! Anybody who thinks that Rich is laid back needs to guess again. I could not persuade him to just sit in the car and wait. I finally came up with an idea that would not only get him back in the car but also might get us some help. I yelled at him to get in the car ‘cause “he’s a man” and attempted to explain that people are more likely to help a lone woman than an able-bodied male. He grumbled and got in, much to my relief. Now maybe we could wait in peace.

RJ45: Aside from this theory making sense, I was getting tired of people pointing at me and laughing. So I step in to hear more of my mother’s lecture where not even eight seconds in, someone pulls over! What the fuck?! I could have really used this the night Def Leppard got stuck in my head while I walked 2 miles to town! So I take the phone and call my fiancé, then hand the phone to my mother to call the tow company. After that, we played the waiting game.

Brynna: And while we waited, my paranoid kid kept staring out the back window, flinching every time a car would go by. Drove me right outta my mind.

RJ45: Hey now, it was a Friday night. There could have been drunk drivers and god knows what!

Brynna: Since when have you reduced your paranoia to Friday nights? You’re always that way.

RJ45: Are we are actually getting into a mother-son argument in a column?

Brynna: I think so

RJ45: ANYWAY... the monster tow truck finally arrived.

Brynna: With one of those monster semi-trucks and a flatbed. I knew I was screwed. There was no way, with my weight and bad leg that I could get into the cab of that bitch.

RJ45; So, I go to Mr. Tow-Man (as I never caught his name) to ask for a solution to our dilemma, in which he intelligently responds with, “What do you want me to do about it?”

Dude, that wasn’t want I was fucking expecting or asking! I figured with his experience in this field, he may have ran into this before. If so, he probably would know a solution instead of, “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” If this guy wasn’t twice my size and trying to help us, I would have smacked him upside the DAMN HEAD. So I go back to try to help my poor mother into the truck one last time.

Brynna: Nobody can say I didn’t try. If the little steps had been six inches wider I would’ve made it, too. As it was my bad knee couldn’t take the strain of supporting me while I pulled myself up. The whole ordeal just pissed me off to no end.

RJ45: Then, some bitch pulls over and asks for directions. I told her that my mother was handicapped and we didn’t time for this. She insisted on getting directions. He busted out a map and kept on doing his best. I kept on asking what we should do about my mother who was presently standing on her bad knee. At this point, this lady could have stayed lost for all I fucking care.

As I came within in seconds of saying, “It is Illinois. It is nothing but corn fields. It is pitch black out... GOOD FUCKING LUCK.” Mr. Tow-Man just shoves the map into her hands and says “PLEASE... Keep it! I don’t care!”

She stomps away, and everybody is happy!

Brynna: I saw some broad running off with a map in her hand and shrug while RJ asks me about calling a cab. I asked him if he had money and he said sure. How much? Nine bucks. I think I gave him a really odd look and said, “Kiddo, it’s gonna take a lot more than nine bucks. Try twenty-five.”

RJ45: Hey, anybody can’t say that I never tried that night. So as I ask Mr. Tow-Man to see if he can call a cab. He pages his boss and his boss comes up with a solution I never thought they would ever agree to.

Brynna: Boy, you have it right on that count. They suggested I ride in the car on the flatbed. Hell, I was game.

RJ45: Yup, he is now officially towing 1 Oldsmobile + 1 Fat Chick.

Brynna: When the tow guy got me situated he told me, “Now, it’s going to be really bumpy. >Don’t panic or anything like that.” I just laughed and said, “Better me back here than him,” while pointing to the cab where Rich was at. Tow guy just grinned, situated everything and shut the car door.

RJ45: So I finally get in the truck. He asks me, “So, what is the quickest way to Washington.” I give him a blank stare. VERY VERY BLANK. I think if I recall correctly, this was the same exit I took when I got lost and inadvertently told a church of African-Americans that I was a Neo-Nazi (which I’m not, calm down!). So, the guy sighs and makes a random turn. Needless to say, I checked on my mom every 2.673 seconds to see if she was okay.

Brynna: I was fine. I didn’t enjoy being bumped around like that, so I shut my eyes to make myself relax. Worked fairly well. This was one of those things where you accept your fate and move on. However, I will say that when I felt the truck start an incline I opened my eyes to find we were just crossing the Cedar Street Bridge.

For the non-initiated non-Peoria-area reader, the Cedar Street Bridge (which, by the way, is named after a street that no longer exists) has a very short span with an 80 foot height at the crest. Meaning that it’s not quite like the incline on the American Eagle at Six Flags, but close. When I was very young it was two lanes of bumpy bridge. Now it’s four lanes and still with a helluvan incline, even though the span was slightly increased when the bridge was revamped in the late Sixties – early Seventies.

So it was 1:00 am, we were going over the bridge, and since I was boosted up in the flatbed I had this amazing view. All these wonderful lights reflected onto the Illinois River and I was in heaven. I love a good view. Then we passed Caterpillar, Inc.’s buildings in East Peoria and all I could do was smile. After all, as they say around here, I have yellow running in my veins. 

RJ45: Yeah, I think you enjoyed that bridge a little too much. After we cross the Cedar Street Bridge, Mr. Tow-Man finds out how much an airhead I can be sometimes:

    Mr. Tow-Man: So do you live deep into Washington?
    RJ45: Uhh...what?
    Mr. Tow-Man:  Like by the square?
    RJ45: Ummm...Noo...No, I don’t.
    Mr. Tow-Man: Okay, do you live in Sunnyland?
    RJ45: I used to a long time ago
    Mr. Tow-Man: That wasn’t what I...would you like some gum?
    RJ45: My gums are feeling okay
    Mr. Tow-Man: No...GUM!
    RJ45: What about gum?
    Mr. Tow-Man: GUM! WOULD YOU LIKE A STICK OF GUM!!
    RJ45: Oh! GUM! Sure!

Mr. Tow-Man made sure to avoid talking to me after that brilliant exchange. Oh well, at least he liked Metal as we listened to a little Zombie and a little System of a Down>..

After poor Mr. Tow-Man can’t get a straight answer out of me about where to put the fucking car at, my mom finally gives directions from the back. Thank goodness!

Brynna: When we got to the motel I began thinking of where the guy could put the car. I didn’t know whether to honk or not. I finally flagged down Rich and told him to send the guy around to me. I suggested the patch of grass where Rich’s little Toyota was parked, seeing as he’d have more room.

We then settled up with the poor guy, who looked relieved as hell to be getting out of there. After thirty minutes with Rich in his cab, I can see why. ;-)

RJ45: After the dust was finally settled, I finally come to a conclusion... Mr. Tow-Man has a story to tell his co-workers about The Old Fat Lady & Her Dipshit Son.