Mother Trucker: A Series of Unfortunate Events

Remember my post the other day? The one about a rough day? Well, the day I had yesterday made that 'other' rough day look like a piece of cake.

Yesterday was, um, how do I put it?! Well, Hellish. I swear with all my heart (and trust me - I did A LOT of swearing yesterday) that this is not fabricated in any capcity. You seriously can't make this shit up. You just can't. If I hadn't lived it, I probably wouldn't believe it.

I had to make the trek to the city for an appointment with the wrist surgeon. Usually when I go to the city, I park and take the subway down into the heart of the city because, well, it's easier. And quicker. And W-A-Y less stressful. And cheaper. The hospital I was going to is sort of off the beaten path. Which in reality, it probably isn't, it's moreover my inability and timidness of using public transit. To get to this hospital I'd have to take a streetcar, and honestly, I have NO idea how to go about getting tokens, where to go/get off, SO . . . instead, I decided it would be 'easier' to just drive in and park. I carefully mapquested it, then put it into my trusty handy-dandy GPS. They had EXACTLY the same directions. Awesome. It was a very straightforward process. I was ready. I could do this (because I fully admit . . . I'm nervous about city driving).

My other half and I decided that it was probably easiest if I took the car instead of the van. It's better on the highway during snow and it's smaller in general; meaning that I can maneouver it in and out of parking spots easy-peasy.

I got myself ready; armed myself with the GPS; magazines; a few pieces of fruit; a can of diet coke; xrays; and u/s disks and was set to take off, except when I started the car, I quickly realized that the INSIDE of the windshield was completely frosted over. I didn't have the desire for the mess that ensues from scraping it, so just let it warm up and defrost while it idled (I know, BAD me environment wise). I wiped the wet residue from the melted frost and headed out.

As I started up the highway out of town, the car did a bit of a 'disco' (it vibrates). For a fleeting moment I thought about popping in and switching up vehicles with my other half, but quickly dismissed it. Whenever the winter tires are on, it always rides a bit rough. No big deal. I carried on. When I merged onto the big 'major' highway and increased my speed to 100+km, I quickly realized that something wasn't quite right. I should have switched the cars. The car was vibrating SO bad, my teeth were chattering and my arse was lifting off the seat. If I wasn't driving, I probably would have considered it "fun". I honestly wondered what it must have looked like to the people around me. I didn't really have time to get to the next exit, turn around and return home to switch out the vehicles, so I just decreased my speed to 80km's (you know - to the exact speed of the people that I curse on this highway). I turned up the radio (well as much as I can - with the back speakers blown years ago) and just decided to embrace it as I was going to live life in the 'slow' lane this trip.

I continued on 'slowly' up the highway. I tried to increase my speed several times, but the resulting discoing was intense. I seriously thought that the car and I were going to explode. I pulled off at the south end of my Shopping City and right into the parking lot of a the GM dealership. A salesman quickly came out and I asked him, in all seriousness, how quickly he could get me into a new car. Apparently 1/2 an hour is pushing it. He thought I was joking. I was dead serious. I was ready to deal that piece of shit in and get a new one right then and there. When I realized this guy wasn't taking me seriously, I left and got back on the highway and made a mental note that I was NEVER going back to that dealership. In a just a few minutes he successfully pissed me RIGHT off (although it probably wouldn't have taken much . . . the car had already done a pretty good job on it's own).

Doing 80km/hour was painfully slow. I had SO many people tell me that I was number 1! Isn't that kind of them? Don't worry - I verbally assaulted every single one of them from the comfort of my piece of shit car. You know - the one that was about to explode, or fall apart, or something. The roads were very wet and messy from the snowfall the previous day, so the wipers and washer fluid were getting a work out every couple of km's. The passenger side was only squirting out a little trickle of washer fluid, but the drivers side was plentiful, so no big deal. As I was approaching the last service centre for many km's, I checked my gas - still full; checked the dash for the washer fluid - no warning light (besides, I'd just filled in on the weekend, so I knew it was full). So I sailed past. Or crawled. However you want to look at it, I didn't stop.

Yeah. BAD move.

I was maybe 5 mins beyond the service centre, when I went to clear my windshield. Again. For the millionth time. Except it didn't work. I pushed the button again. NOTHING. I couldn't see anything. Thankfully I was in the right-most lane, so I carefully pulled over and got out. On the highway. I had NO choice. Being the 'smart' gal that I am, I ALWAYS make sure that both vehicles have a spare jug of washer fluid. I grabbed it, and popped the hood. Well, I TRIED to pop the hood. Except it didn't pop. It was stuck. I pulled and pulled that lever, but it wouldn't budge. Finally I REEFED on it - I HAD to get it open, and it finally gave. I quickly and efficiently got the washer fluid filled, and closed the hood. Except now it wouldn't close. The little 'safety' latch connected, but it wouldn't close all the way. By this time, I'm REALLY frustrated and upset. I need to get to this appointment and here I am stranded on the highway. I push on that hood and it won't stay closed. I basically snapped at this point. I got up on the hood of that car and jumped on it (in an attempt to close it) telling it EXACTLY what I thought of it (trust me, it wasn't nice in ANY capacity. Good thing my children weren't there - or else I'd owe the 'potty mouth jar' A LOT of money). Almost immediately a tractor-trailer truck pulls up and stops behind me. A kind man gets out and promises me that he's here to help, and begs me to get off the hood. I'm a blubbering mess, and I sway between tears and anger as I explain what is going. He was a GREAT guy - took my verbal diarrhea with a grain of salt. He's trying desperately not to laugh (and not succeeding I might add). He tries to close the hood, but it won't for him either. He fiddles with the latch and declares that it's stuck. Bless his heart . . . he got in his truck, went to the next exit, turned around, went to a service station and got some lubey stuff and returned. He put the lube on the latch, and it worked. He got it closed. I was trying to pay him, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said that I was the exact picture of what his wife would have been like in that situation, and wanted to help me out before someone a little more 'unsavoury' came about. In MY eyes, he's a hero. In HIS eyes - I'm probably a raging hormonally challenged psychopath. One that gave him GREAT humour. I can just imagine the conversations burning across the airways after that.

I pulled away from the shoulder and putt-putted along. Another 5 mins up the road, I notice something 'weird' with the hood. I realize that it's NOT closed all the way and WHAP - the hood flies OPEN! Like RIGHT open. Since I'd realized what was happening, I'd already started to slow down and was starting to pull over (again), so it wasn't a 'huge' impact. The windshield wasn't broken, or at least not badly. Part of the trim was definitely broken, but that glass wasn't broken at all. At least I don't think it was. I didn't look REALLY closely (yeah - I know, responsible driver that I am). I got out and closed it. It was definitely closed tightly (I broke every nail on my hands as I tried to reef it open - in an attempt to make sure it was closed). I don't know for sure, but I think the issue was the lever in the car - that when I'd reefed it when I was opening it in the first place, it got stuck on open.

Again, I pulled away from the shoulder. I carried on 'uneventfully' right into the city, although I realized that at times when I pushed the washer fluid button, it got stuck. I also noticed that the spray on the drivers side wasn't nearly as 'forceful' as it had been earlier. No big deal, it was still working, right? As I was about to merge onto the 401, I moved to the centre lane so I could be on the 'slow' lane when I hit my side of the highway. Two cars passed me, one on either side. Both decided that they needed to be in the opposite lanes, so they both tried to pull in front of me. At the same time. They nearly collided. That meant that *I* needed to slam on my brakes. I did, but I still wound up bumping into one of the cars. I thought I was going to vomit. I was also waiting for someone to jump out and yell "SMILE! You're on Candid Camera!", you know to put me out of my misery. But no one did. This was reality. We all pulled right off to the side of the road. Both drivers came to me and apologized profusely. There was some extensive damage to the car I hit, but he didn't seem upset. And it must be noted that his car was a BMW. Why couldn't I have hit another shit-box like what I drive?! I knew I'd hit him, but I also knew it wasn't that hard. The other car wasn't touched at all. I was already on edge from the experience of this trip thus far, so it didn't take much to launch me into tears again. The man I hit said that he wasn't worried . . . that the damage on his car was from a previous rear-ending (last month), and it was going in tomorrow (meaning today) for repairs. He checked the front of my car, and there is a little crack in the bumper, but honestly, it could have already been there. No one exchanged any info - they said it wasn't necessary. They were more concerned about how upset *I* was. I assured them it was OK (reality is - I just wanted to get the hell out of there before any changed their minds).

Again, I pulled back onto the highway. As I approached my exit, the GPS chirps at me to get off. I do, but then quickly realize that it's taken me off the wrong exit. I guess as I travelled along, it decided to change it's route (I found out after it's because my GPS is SO smart, it knows when there is heavy traffic, so it was taking me on a different route that wasn't as trafficky). I pull off into a parking lot to check where it was taking me. It definitely was taking me to the hospital, so I pulled out again and carried on. I wound my way through the city. It was slow going, but not busy (lots of lights, stops for buses, streetcars, pedestrians).

I finally arrive at the hospital. I pull into the first parking lot. It was full. I pull out and go the next one. It was full too. I go to 3 other lots. Full as well. I start to panic . . . here I am FINALLY where I need to be, but I can't freakin' well find a place to park my piece of crap car. I go around the block (several times over) and find that all the lots are full. I go further from the hospital and find a lot. With lots of grafitti on the buildings surrounding it. A man that I thought was homeless at first comes to the window and says to just get out and give him the keys. I get that some lots do that, but I wasn't so 'sure' about this one, so I just excused myself and carried on. I found another lot that I didn't have to leave my keys. I pull in; the guy hands me a paper that he's handwritten something completely illegible on; and I get it parked in the spot he has pointed out to me. I was one of about 5 cars. Should I have taken this as a sign considering the rest of the lots were FULL?! I hide all my electronics and grab anything of major value to take with me. Honestly, I'm not even sure if it was actually a parking lot, and I admit, when I stepped onto the sidewalk, I realized just how 'seedy' this part of the city was, and was quite prepared for the fact that my car might not even be there when I returned. I returned quickly to the car to take ALL my electronics and valuables. Including the ownership. I was skeered.

I clutched my bag tightly to my side and hurried back towards the hospital. All the while I'm following behind a lone man, who was happily and animatedly conversing with himself. Who needs REAL friends when you've got mental problems like that?! Clearly not this guy. I almost envied the relationship he had with himself. "They" sounded like fun folk. For real. I finally arrive at the hospital and rush through the doors. Relief flooded me. And my foot was killing (remember, I've got my foot shoved into boots that were rubbing against my stitches). It had taken 4.5 hours for me to get there. A trip that should have only taken 2 hours at the most. BUT . . . I was there. And in one piece.

My first job was to vent. To the voicemail in my other half's office. I hated to dump it on him, but I HAD to get it out. I went and got my hospital card (which was easy peasy - they told me to be there at least an hour early so I could get one. It took about 1 min). I grabbed some lunch (this hospital has a WICKED food court. Decisions, decisions!!), and then sat down to gather myself. I couldn't eat - I still felt sick to my stomach, but sitting there definitely helped me to decompress. I made my way to the clinic I needed to be at; registered and got settled. I was quite early for my appointment, but at least I was in the right place, and I could just sit and veg out. The appointment itself was uneventful. Lots of waiting; meeting with the resident & student doctors; xrays; more waiting; nerve conduction tests; more waiting; meeting with all the doctors; more waiting; discussion with an occupational therapist; more waiting; custom made splints; paying for the said splints (OUCH!); new appointment for several months down the road. That was that. Quite easy. Time consuming? Yes. But definitely easy.

I got my coat on and headed out of the hospital and wound my way back to the parking lot. I was prepared to NOT find my car where I left it. I had mixed feelings about it. Losing the car itself wasn't a problem, I mean, just hours before I was ready to trade it in. Or to bomb it. Or something else equally as deserving. The issue I had was the fact that I'd be trapped in this 'scary' part of the city by myself. Much to my relief (and admittedly, a bit of disappointment), the car was there. Fully in tact. It still had windows and mirrors and wheels that were inflated. AND? There were no homeless people sleeping (or having sex!! Yes, I watched "The Other Guys") in it. Phew!! I hopped in, got it started and headed to the 'exit'. The parking guy approached and told me it was $21.50. For what? I have no idea, but I quickly paid him. I wasn't about to argue with him. In fact I handed him $25 and told him to keep the change. I just wanted out. In all honesty, if he would have told me it was $50, I would have quickly paid him without questionning it.

I pulled out quickly and hit a HUGE pothole. Did I mention that it was huge?! I was certain that I probably left part of the car behind, but I wasn't getting out to check. I was willing to make that sacrifice. I pulled into the traffic of downtown Toronto at the very same time as the rest of Toronto. I slowly wound my way through the streets. I was constantly cleaning the windshield, and was becoming more and more aware of how 'little' the spray was on the drivers side, and the basically the passenger side had nothing but a dribble coming out. I was pushing it so hard ( because in my mind, the harder I pushed that button, I was hopeful that the wiper juice would miraculously come out faster). And it kept getting stuck. Then of course my washer fluid was empty again. I pulled into a gas station and bought 2 more jugs. I got onto the 401 easy enough and continued towards home. Suddenly I realize that I'm doing 100km. My car isn't discoing anymore. Not at all. I'm assuming the 'bump' from the pothole knocked whatever was wrong into place. I happily continue on. I pull into the mall in my Shopping City to get Keurig coffee cups for my other half; and popcorn for the family (we all LOVE Kernel's popcorn - YUM!). Besides . . . after that fiasco of a day, I deserved a little retail therapy. I grabbed the coffee, popcorn and a tea and headed for home. When I'm SO close to home I can taste it, I had to stop again to fill up the washer fluid. That would be jug#3 that I've used on this trip alone.

As I drive through 'town' on the way to my home turf, I stop to get gas. And to clean the windows. I can't see out the side window's at all (I was opening and closing them the whole way home so I could see what was going beside me), and the passenger side has nothing but a 1cm strip that is clear. I lift the nozzle from the gas pump, and as I do, it's spurting gas. Not huge amounts, but it is definitely spurting out onto the ground. And on my boots. I'm not touching the trigger, but it's pouring out. I don't know what to do besides exactly what I WAS doing: Just standing there holding it as the gas flows to the ground. The gas guy quickly shuts the pump down and comes out. He assures me it wasn't me - that they've had problems with it all day. As luck would have it, it was with MY turn that it was really messed up. Are you surprised? No, me either. And now I've got gassy boots. Awesome. I move the car, fill it up, and go to clean the windows. Except I can't. Why you ask? Because the damn squeegee things aren't out. Or someone stole them. I give up. I pull out and head for home and 'life' as I know it. You know - the 'dull' and 'boring' life that I lead as Mom to 3 busy children.

After having time to recompose myself after the events of yesterday, I tell my other half that if he sees any cracks, dents, chips, or ANYTHING out of the ordinary on the car, to keep the comments to himself. That it WAS me and I accept full responsibility for it, but I don't want/need to hear about it. He just chuckles and carries on.

And to think . . . I have to make this VERY same trip again in a few months.

YIKES!! Anyone want to come along?!