August 08, 2008
Car Trouble
Last night, Husband and I had Sue, Heather, Spikette and Mr. Spikette over for dinner. (I really need a name for Mr. Spikette. He deserves better.) Sue cooked, and Heather brought salad and dressing. Homemade dressing and bagged salad, that is.
As you may recall, Heather lives in the city and doesn't have a car. The woman has three TiVos and seventy-four pairs of black shoes, but no car. Not that I'm judging! Oh, who am I kidding -- I'm totally judging! She's a FREAK!
So Heather took the train and walked across the street to get bagged salad at Dominick's, where I was to pick her up. It's literally five minutes from my house, so it's no big deal.
UNLESS, of course, you are having dinner with Husband, Mr. and Mrs. Spikette and Sue. Then it's a Big Fucking Cirque Du Soliel Grand Finale! Don't try to pick up Heather from the Dominick's without a net, people! I'm a trained professional!
Let me explain. And mind you, the following conversations took about 30 seconds. However, I will be obsessing about them for DAYS.
Heather texted me from the Dominick's that it was time for me to come get her because she had knocked down an elderly woman during the course of her Salad Emergency, and management wasn't buying her story. So I grabbed my keys, entered the garage and hit the garage door opener.
Behind my car were parked not one but TWO cars.
PW: You guys both drove here?
Mr. S: I have to go to rehersal right after dinner.
PW: You live two minutes away! You couldn't drive them home?!
Mr. S: Shut up.
PW: You are so on Al Gore's shit list. [to Husband] Honey, gimme your keys.
H: Why?
Was he asleep during the preceeding events? Funny, he looked conscious...
PW: BecauseIneedtopickupHeatherandSpikettesareparkedbehindme!
H: Both of them?
Oh. My. GOD.
PW: Yes. Where are your keys?
H: [HUGE eye roll and sigh] I have to clean off the seat first.
PW: I can do it.
H: Noooooooo, I'll do iiiiiiiiiiiiit. [slumps toward the door, dragging his feet, having suddenly turned into a thirteen-year old girl]
PW: Oh, for God's sake!
What could that man possibly have in his front seat that I couldn't clean it off myself? I mean, I know most people have, like, a couple CDs and maybe some directions scribbled on a Post-It. Did he think me incapable of tossing that crap into the back seat? Or did he have something...
Was there poo? Did he have something disgusting to clean? Was it going to be a long, involved process that he was hoping to put off for a few months?
Or perhaps there was something there that I was physically unable to lift, like a sofa bed? Or a china cabinet? Or a corpse?
PW: Heather's salad is going to wilt before I get to Dominick's! She can sit in the back seat!
H: I'd have to clean that out, too.
PW: Oh, for fuck's sake! Forget it! [to Spikette] Gimme your keys.
Sp: Um... whyyyyyyyyyy...?
At this point, I literally exploded into a thousand little, tiny shards of frustration and rage, causing a rift in the time-space continuum, which then allowed Captain Picard to reunite the particles of my body and make me whole again.
Sue: Just take my car! I think I have enough gas...
No sarcastic comment for Sue, as I often keep driving for days after my gas light goes on.
PW: Spikette, just gimme your keys.
Sp: I'll drive.
PW: No! We won't eat until midnight if you drive!
Sp: ... [clearly uneasy]
PW: I'm not going to crash your car. I'm a better driver than you!
For the love of all that is holy, it's not like she drives a Beemer or a vintage Mustang or something! It's a fucking Saturn station wagon!
PW: GIVE ME THE KEYS!!!!!!!!!
Sp: Fine.
And I was finally, blissfully out the door and off to get Heather. I didn't even move Spikette's seat or adjust any mirrors, lest she burst a blood vessel in her eye or something.
Heather hadn't even gotten her seatbelt buckled before I started in on The Impossible Odds I Had To Circumvent In Order To Obtain A Drivable Vehicle Jeebus H. Pole-Vaulting Christ! At the end of the story, I stopped to catch my breath.
H: Are you done?
PW: NO!
H: There's more to the story?
PW: No, I'm just going to repeat everything over and over until we get there! And then you can't mention it to anyone.
H: Because you're going to blog it.
PW: Of course.
By the time we pulled in my driveway, we were laughing that ugly-laugh where you're practically crying. I opened my front door, and Heather goes, "Aaaaaaaaand, scene."
Comments
In case you were wondering, there was a single binder and two pieces of paper in the passenger seat,and about 50 ties in the backseat of MisterPirateWench's car. none of these things would have taken more than 2 seconds to move, even if I had had my hands full of bagged salad and homemade dressing. I'm just saying.
Posted by: heather at August 8, 2008 03:39 PM