Eventfully Redefined

For those who celebrate them, birthdays are often the source of our most vivid memories.  If you happened to have a lot of good or bad fortune on a single birthday, you may grow to associate an anecdotal causality with birthdays in general.  When this happens, it can end up creating eager anticipation or foreboding dread on an annual basis.

Perhaps the only reason you bother to recall a specific event is because it happened on your birthday; a moment you would have otherwise dismissed had it been any other day.  Because of the significance we place on the day, these memories often end up being the stories we tell and retell out of our fondness of them, while others are ingrained for all the wrong reasons (like the ones that resemble a Spanish Novela).  And then there are the days everyone has had from time to time (and I don't just mean birthdays), where nothing seems to go according to plan no matter how much effort you exert in trying to right the ship.

We should have known this was never going to be our best day.  It was my wife's birthday and I was driving her to see the allergist, because when you're a parent, your birthday is just another day in which obligations need to be met.  The only thing is, this wasn't the sort of day anyone could have planned for.

On the way to my wife's allergist appointment, an accident on the freeway completely halted traffic.  In some cities, you can transition to an alternate, albeit less desirable, freeway route — just not in our city.  I would not normally need to take such a trip with my wife, but her previous allergy test had her dealing with low blood pressure on the return drive home (less than ideal when traveling at freeway speeds).  Luckily, I know my way around and was able to get off the freeway and seamlessly snake my way to the office in time for my wife's appointment.

Knowing ahead of time that it would be a long appointment, I dropped her off and ran an errand.  While running my errand, the battery indicator in my instrument cluster suddenly became active — not a good sign on a low mileage vehicle.  Although the light remained on, I ran my errand and parked the car normally.  In turning it off, I was hoping to be able to dismiss the light as a glitch that would correct itself with a power cycle ... except this was a motor vehicle, not a computer.

When I started the car to return to our allergist's office, the battery light was off.  It was a fluke, I told myself.  There was nothing to worry about until the light reappeared just as I was about to reach the allergist.  I parked out front on a busy street, careful to turn off all electronics, knowing full well that an alternator or battery replacement was likely.  We just need to get home.

Considering the only ramp access to the office was in the back of the building, I decided to hang out in the car until my wife was finished with her appointment.  As the minutes started to add up, my wife sent me a text message: 

"maybe you should come inside as I may be here awhile due to my reactions."

Allergy testing is so medieval.

Instinctively, I notify her that I'll move the vehicle closer to the ramp in the back — except I cannot.  Instead, I sent a text advising that we will be hanging around for awhile longer, waiting for a tow, because the car was completely dead.  So much for returning home in time to join the kids for lunch at school.  At least we will be back in time for my daughter's special presentation ...

When I called my insurance for a tow, they decided to change the rules of the engagement after the game was already afoot: my free towing service (that I pay extra for) now costs $100 because I wanted to be towed home where I had a running vehicle, and not to a shop where my car would have to be parked overnight before it could be serviced the following day.  It was completely normal to them to leave us thirty-five miles from our home and our children as well as with no means of getting there.  If anything, they knew that and took advantage, squeezing us for all they could get.  At least the tow would be prompt.  I supposed that was something positive.

Apparently, thirty minutes in insurance-talk is actually two hours in real-time, because that's when the driver showed up.  He was so young, I wasn't sure he was old enough to legally drive a vespa, much less a tow rig.  He was chipper and enthusiastic and completely oblivious to the fact that my wife and I were silently wondering whether or not he owned a razor.  

On the drive home, my wife was passing out, succumbing to the copious amounts of histamine blockers in her system.  Partially to fill the air and partially to ease the tension, I made small talk with the driver.  At one point, the conversation led him to relate a story of a local driver from a rival outfit that decided to save time by not bothering with secondary tie-downs, thinking the primaries would suffice.  Naturally, the primaries did not suffice or there would be no story to tell.  The primary straps in question ended up failing, sending the the vehicle into oncoming traffic during the evening rush on one of the busiest sections of freeway in the region.

The damage was expensive in many ways, but all we could think about was our vehicle and the thought of it careening into oncoming traffic.  A single collision would total our car, but worse than that, my chair that we had fought so hard to get was locked in the rear cargo area, and it would be crushed for sure.  The thought of losing my mobility again due to circumstances beyond our control was something that would weigh on us until we could get home.  As we neared our destination, driving through a mountain pass, we heard it: BOOM!!!!

A thunderous sound echoed in our ears and shook us to our bones.  My wife screamed, and the driver and I both yelled out in shock and fear.  The three of us turned in unison to ensure our vehicle was still present ... it was.  We pulled over, mere miles from home, and were forced to wait again.  The booming sound was caused by losing an inner tire from the dually axle in the rear.  It had now been several hours and we were still not home.

Knowing that a rescue tow for our tow truck was going to be anything but prompt, the driver gained our consent to drive along the freeway shoulder at fifteen miles per hour, and again along a side street (because it was flatter than the freeway), all to avoid another blowout.  Our day was ruined and he felt responsible.  We made arrangements to have my wife picked up while I waited to be taken home.  There was no way we would get to the school for my daughter's presentation if we didn't split up.

When the tire blowout happened, we were fifteen minutes from home.  I arrived home seventy-five minutes later instead.  I was able to extract my chair once power had been temporarily restored to the vehicle, only something else was wrong.  The battery looked like it had exploded.  There was acid everywhere, and something did not smell right in the state of Denmark.

First thing's first: we needed a new battery and someone to replace it for us.  Once upon a time, I would have done it myself, but fate stepped in and took that away from me.  Thankfully, help arrived in the form of a family friend.  I picked him up and we went to work.  

The battery was easy enough for him to swap, but the spark, and subsequent events were anything but expected.  Despite telling ourselves otherwise, and even trying to rationalize it as benign, there was an unmistakable odor.  It was distinct, as though something electrical was burning.  Around the point where we started to consider the alternator may also be an issue, my friend grazed it with his bare hand and burned himself badly.  It was a lot worse than he let on, but he never complained.  As he disconnected the battery and began tearing apart the many items in the way of removing the alternator, a closer inspection revealed smoke rising from within, that unmistakable smell becoming stronger the closer I was.

With the dead unit wrapped in rags to protect our hands from further burns, we headed to the auto parts store once again.  The store that had the battery did not have the alternator.  Thankfully, the only other auto parts store in town that was open past five in the evening had several on hand ... only the first one they brought looked like it had been removed from a salvage.

"I'm not paying for that."  I informed the worker.  "It's in worse shape than the dead one we brought in."

"Do you think I should test it?"  She asked, clearly unsure if it was necessary, as if we were making a mountain of a mole hill.

"Please."  My friend and I responded in unison.  As she walked away, we exchanged looks of disbelief.

"Huh!"  Exclaimed the worker, genuinely shocked.  "It's dead.  I'll get a different one off the shelf," she mumbled, walking away.  She returned with a boxed alternator as pristine as one expects new parts to be.  "I'll test it."  She declared.  "This one's good."  She informed us, as though we hadn't been present for the test.  

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

It was sunset by the time everything was replaced.  I had spent $500 on my wife's birthday and hadn't even made dinner.  I hadn't gotten her the drinks she had requested and hadn't even warmed up the oven, but thanks to the kindness of family friends, she was able to attend my daughter's presentation, and I was able to ensure our most reliable running vehicle was running once again.  Another good friend of mine showed up while I was cooking to help save the dinner with my wife's favorite specialty beer, and he livened up our evening with his kindness and wit.

The day was a disaster, make no mistake.  While it was full of many downs, the ups served to remind us of the wealth one can never attain with money.  The series of events that took place sound wilder than fiction when retold, yet we lived it and the kindness that was given to us that day are what make me remember it fondly.

My wife's ride to the school spared my daughter any unnecessary sadness and my good friend's arrival for dinner helped bring a smile to our faces as we wound down a tough day, but our real savior that day was from a special family that had selflessly helped us so many times before.  I found myself, once again, humbled by their generosity, knowing I could live ten lifetimes and never repay it — even with the sincerest of efforts —  but that won't stop me from trying.