Irritation takes many forms, but today it takes the form of me, at 5 am a bundle of unbridled energy, a woman who felt great despite two consecutive ungodly early risings. I needed to be in Baltimore by 7:30 this morning, so I did what any responsible Kris would do, and I laid my outfit out last evening (admittedly reasonably easy to do because parts of it were worn yesterday – gasp! and get over it) and made sure the car had enough gas to get me there. And that I had a chilled bottle of water for the morning drive. And that my work papers were tucked in my attaché (also carried yesterday).
I’m a morning person in spurts, and for the first half an hour I sang Genesis (yes, I don’t know either) and Faith Hill at the top of my lungs while truckers and minivaners alike gawked with abandon. Beltway traffic flowed smoothly and so did my joy when, suddenly, there was smoke from the front left side of the car. And a faint nose that grew into the dragging rump-pum-pum-pum sound a car makes when your Uncle Ron nods off at the wheel after too many cans of Fosters. The sound it makes just before it goes off the road and your Aunt Rita flicks him on the ear. That is never a good sound.
And without any cool slow motion drama, I pulled the car over a few lanes. And there was more smoke. And upon closer inspection, there was a tire that had ruptured so violently that it looked to be puking rubber out onto the pavement. I hadn’t realized earlier that I was on the Autobahn, but was instantly transported, and then completely sure someone would shear off the side of my car within seconds. No. one. slowed. down. Not a soul. Even a county police officer passed me, as in passed me and left me sitting there with a vomiting tire in the middle of the outer loop of the capital superhighway, and at that moment I was pretty sure that a) I was going to be hit from behind and killed and b) that I’d have to stop watching those video survival stories, because that devil’s programming was the main reason I worried I’d be hit from behind and killed.
Within 30 minutes, AAA sent a little angel, a little angel that came in the form of a silver grill in my rearview and a glorious, gritty man in the side mirror. And before he got there, I of course worried about the rear ending and the fact that my kitties would be raised in feline foster homes without shoes or religion, but you know what concerned me most? That it was quickly approaching 8 am and there was no caffeine in reach.
Addiction has a new face, friends. A face that comes with a donut tire and a withdrawal migraine. Happy Friday, indeed.
14 Comments
Next time you want someone to stop, try showing a little leg. At least that’s how it worked in It Happened One Night. Yes, all my advice is based solely on old movies.
Or fake being preggers. Peeps with kids catch all the breaks you know.
And Foster’s comes in cans? How long has this been going on?
Geez. I’d be sure to contact the county police and let them know exactly what happened and ask what happened to “serving and protecting”??
I broke down a few weeks ago (fine, ran out of gas) and the H.E.L.P. (Highway Emergency L-something Patrol) drove past me and didn’t even slow down.
Caffeine is a slippery slope. Whenever I don’t grab some in the a.m. I find myself to be much snappier (and I don’t mean the way I dress).
Mmm… caffeine. If I hadn’t drank all that damned wine, I’d have a huge cup of coffee right now.
The police only stop when they want to give me a ticket. Aside from that, I’m shit out of luck.
What a lousy business. It must have been terrifying next to all that high-speed traffic. I hate the Beltway in a good car with four new tires!
Nationals 5, Reds 2. Dead BlackBerry battery. One curious boss in the next row. I am getting older.
Whoa, you attempted to commute on the highway in the morning, without caffeine? I have a 8 minute walk to work that I would never attempt without my cup to go. Kids today…
Man, I guess I need to get AAA. Though, at times, I can call my own gritty man to gawk at my tire.
A lovely Friday, indeed.
Glad to hear that you are OK. I too get caffeine withdrawal headaches… I feel your pain!
Seriously, how did you know I had an alcoholic Uncle Ron?
I might be moving to the DC area. You’re not making it very appealing.
Speaking as someone who stops to help (or at least inquires if help is needed) I can tell you that helping folks are in the Minority. Everyone who needs help is usually Grateful for it but those who are trying to “handle it” themselves are downright rude (sometimes) Caffine, Oh how I Love thee…
I would have slowed, stopped, and ordered a limo with espresso and cigarette machines.
Always a hoot, you are, Missy. : )
Usually my husband wants to help, unless the people i trouble are dressed like cowboys with cut off shirts and tattoos!
You can have my Freiling French Press when you pry it from my cold dead hands.
I’ve had that too–except my power steering went out and the belt crushed my water pump as well (or something like that). I sat in -20 degree weather for THREE HOURS before a tow truck came to bring me to safety. I quite obviously had my hazards on, and two police cars passed me on the way to what I can only think was kids jay-walking in this impossibly small suburb.
People suck.