Happy Friday the 13th

Lastnight Lucy and I were happily wrapping gifts on the livingroom floor while listening to Christmas music. Brandon had just gotten home and was sitting in the kitchen, about 3 bites into his late meal. In the midst of our unassuming festiveness, came the ring of the doorbell. I wondered who on earth would be stopping by this time of night (just a shade before 8PM - and yes, it makes me feel old to say that).

I opened up the door to a young man saying, "Your car is on fire."

I looked toward the driveway, where Brandon and Husband's cars were parked.

Indeed, he was right. A small flame was visible from underneath Brandon's car.

I thanked this neighborhood saint and summoned Husband, who ran out to move his car while I called 9-1-1. The boys went out and stood at the end of the driveway, while Lucy and I stood in the front window. It had been about 5 minutes (i.e. FOREVER) and the police were there, but no fire truck. The fire was quite large by this time, and things started popping. I called again, and they assured they were on their way and said Lucy and I should exit the house, just in case. We could smell the burning rubber downstairs as we went out the back door with Buddy. Trudging through the snow, we made it to the front to see the car pretty engulfed. The fire truck came up just as we approached the curb, and Buddy answered with his best howls. Lucy was upset, I was stressed and felt so bad for the big kid; he's had a string of bad luck with cars and life in general, and I knew he could not afford this setback on many levels. I won't elaborate, but this is his 4th car in about 2.5 years. Enough said.

Lucy and I went to stand in the neighbor's driveway, and I noticed a vehicle parked there, with a guy leaning out of his window recording the events on his cell phone. I approached him and asked him if he didn't think it was a bit weird that he was recording everything. He did not think so, and apparently also didn't appreciate me suggesting otherwise. While I stood there in the cold trying to calm my frantic, crying 4-year-old, he continued to make comments (and record). I had a few words for him myself (clean ones, mind the children...) but my most effective barb was to stand directly in front of his camera shot. He eventually left, but not without a last jab. I found out a bit later this was the same guy who had earlier pulled IN our driveway to ask if they could help, as the firetruck was screaming down the street to our house. Husband basically said thanks, but get the hell out of the way. Apparently they sought refuge in the neighbor's driveway (they weren't home), where they could still get a good view.

I appreciate people's concern, I really do. Several people came out to ask if they could help, and I realize there is some level of allure and excitement that people might want to observe, maybe snap a photo or two. But why take a video? What are you going to use it for? And if the owner of the property asks you to stop, why wouldn't you? It just doesn't sit right with me.

Lots of water and chemicals and a saw to the hood later (that's a pretty painful sound to hear, by the way), the fire was out and the car was completely totaled. It was a relatively inexpensive car to begin with, so the loss was not covered by insurance and the local Cars for Kids got a donation. Now we search for a different car. Again.

It wasn't until one of the firemen mentioned it, that we realized it was Friday the 13th. I'd say we're good for a few years' worth of bad luck, don't you think?

Car Saga Continued...

After the abrupt end to my love affair with the K-Car (as it was so aptly put by Canadian rockers Bare Naked Ladies, If I had a million dollars...I would buy you a K-Car, a nice reliant automobile...), I really wanted to love my next car, a Dodge Spirit. Instead I grew to hate it, because something about this car definitely hated me.

I don't recall specifically when it all started, but a short time after that Easter 1999 incident, my dad found the Spirit for me and I once again had my own wheels. I think the first thing that happened was while driving between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, the tread on one of the back tires just completely peeled off, for no apparenty reason than it just felt like it. Within a couple of weeks, I sprung a flat on another tire.

Sometime that summer while driving to work, the fuel pump went out. I also had to replace the gas tank. In late July, I was in Council Bluffs, IA participating as a bridesmaid in the wedding of a friend. We had just finished the rehearsal dinner and re-entered the outside world to a torrential downpour. Streets were quickly becoming flooded, and I drove back to my hotel as carefully as I could, but something went awry. The next morning I had to get up at the buttcrack of dawn (yes that is a technical term) to get it towed and figure out what was wrong with it before all of the hair and makeup hoopla began. Turns out I had blown one of the front rotors. Not a cheap fix.

That fall, I was driving back from the gym to my apartment in Iowa City. I was just about to turn the corner onto my street, when I heard a clunk. I got out and peered underneath, and just started laughing. There, resting on the asphalt, was the main pipe serving my exhaust system. I jimmied it up with a wire coat hanger and proceeded to the nearest Exhaust Pros.

In 2000, I replaced the brakes, pads, and a couple other things on the car, and also blew the serpentine belt while on a trip to Des Moines visiting friends. I had to hitch a ride back to Iowa City with a friend's husband and come back a week later for the car because no part stores were open on Sunday. Since I seemed to have a knack for things going wrong with the car while I was out of town, I was actually surprised nothing happened to it during my summer in Minneapolis that year. Never fear though...that winter a 16-year-old with a new license smacked into me in a parking lot and left a nice divot.

In January 2001, I moved permanently to Minneapolis. Incidentally sometime that year, the remainder of the exhaust system decided to crap out. After my first taste of a big-city repair estimate, I took a risk and drove it back to Storm Lake (thankfully without incident) to get it totally replaced.

In early 2002, I started shopping for a new car, and I mean new car. I was sick of all this repair BS. After negotiating a good deal (still one of my proudest moments), I was the owner of a 2002 Honda Civic, a FANTASTIC car that I still drive today.

The Spirit still had one last kick in the arse left for me, however. There was a period of time that I had both cars, until some exchange could take place to deliver it to my younger brother. I parked the Honda in the indoor garage space at my apartment, and the Spirit stayed parked in the street. During a time I was gone out of town for a few days, the city decided to sweep the street, and I had not seen the signs ahead of time (because I was parking inside). The car got towed, and it was a sweet $135 to retrieve it.

Man, I was glad to see that thing go! I'm not sure what happened to it when Justin took it over, or where it ended up after leaving our family. I just turned around and never looked back.