After a looooong day of helping a teacher friend write a monster paper, I came home to a note on my front door.
Before I get to the contents, a little friend pimpage: While I'm not the friend to go shopping with unless you're in a state of high anxiety or the friend to go dancing (or meat-marketing) with, I am the friend you call if you ever need to get a monster paper finished. I'm a queen of research and research writing, and I'm good for eight hours of work- straight on through, fueled by iced coffee and a need for speed and learning.
The note was from my sister Ella. She and her husband (let's call him Cyclist Brother-in-Law) and my brother went to a bar that night, and if I was feeling thirsty, I could join them.
A welcome end to a long and dreary day. We sat back, played Dropkicks on the jukebox (with a tangent into Bobby Darin because apparently "Beyond the Sea" is one of my brother's favorite songs. I tell you, you know a person for decades and they still manage to surprise).
Into the wee hours, we decided to go back to the house for food. My brother and CBIL refused my offer of a ride home (Why? Why would you want to walk a mile- a good deal of it uphill- with beer in your belly? Who does that? Is it my car? What's wrong with my car?), but Ella climbed in and we headed home.
A sharp turn onto my street and I had to swerve because a car was sitting in the middle of the lane. I asked Ella if we should stop, and she said, "Of course we should."
I pulled over, and she went to talk to the driver. She came back to me with this report: The driver was cocked, and her car ran out of gas. Maybe we could push it out of the way?
I shut off the engine and both of us took our places behind the car. Let me say that the road to my house from downtown is a hill before it flattens out. We were trying to push the car uphill.
No, we weren't drunk. We decided to push a car uphill sober. Maybe it would've been better if we were drunk: we might've been able to tap into some Hulk strength.
We pushed with all our might- nothing doing. I called to the lady, "What gear are you in?" "Drive." My sister told her to put it in neutral. She did, and we managed- with Herculean effort- to roll the car about a foot. Six more were needed to get her car to a safe place.
Ella told me to find the menfolk and tell them the situation. I zipped back downtown to find the boys. They hadn't taken our route because that's the steepest of three ways to the house.
When I found them and relayed the entire scenario, my brother was convinced that I was obsessed with giving them a ride home. CBIL looked at me for a moment and said, "I don't understand." I repeated the story. He said, "I still don't understand."
"Just get in the fucking car already!"
With reinforcements, we undertook to move the car. With much straining and groaning, we managed to move it to the side of the road. Sure, it was the no-parking side, but beggars can't be choosers when they drive big cars.
Get this: CBIL, Ella, and brother decided to walk the rest of the way to the house. Why? What the hell is wrong with my car? Even the cocked driver wouldn't take a ride.
Really, I might not be the best at driving, but I'm certainly not near the worst. I don't even car-seat dance when I have passengers.
We ended up back at home making late night omelets and bacon. I don't know what happened to the cocked driver, but I have a feeling her car was towed, which makes sense. Who the hell drinks without putting aside a couple bucks for gas? Who chooses that last beer knowing the needle is past E? No common sense at all.
Ella kept wondering why we had run into the lady. I figured it was fate. She was in the middle of the lane; I hate to think about what could've happened.
It was one of those weird moments on top of a pleasant evening. Who can really know the why of it?