As a firm believer that all things happen for a reason, I am currently failing to understand what lesson is to be learned from today. Originally, it wasn’t supposed to be so complicated.
The plans were made around the fact that I turn 21 on Sunday, but will be working all day and no one will be around afterward to go out for any festivities. Plus, with an 8:30 class on Monday morning, the stereotypical “overindulgence in alcohol in the company of friends” thing isn’t such a hot idea. Damn being responsible. So, as Friday is my day off, I set up a grand adventure for myself today instead – a hot air balloon over the sunrise in NC, followed by a leisurely lunch and a two hour trail ride in the mountains. I didn’t post about it because I have an unimpressive track record when it comes to weather-dependent activities and figured it best not to jinx myself. Yes, well.
The fact that the balloon was scheduled for sunrise meant hitting the road at a painfully early hour, but at the time it just added to the adventure. So I rolled out in sleepy cheerfulness, armed with coffee and an iPod full of irresistably happy tunes. For several hours, it was just my trusty little Accord keeping pace with the big rigs as we made our way to the state lines.
I hit South Carolina, and eventually, North Carolina, all with little traffic and a comfortable amount of time to spare. I was just a few exits from my destination and things were going smoothly … until I felt the jerk, the lurch, and then heard the most ungodly scraping sound issuing from the rear of my car. Fearing the whole rear bumper had spontaneously decided to abandon ship and was preparing a theatrical farewell (there was absolutely no rational basis for this fear, btw), I hit the hazards, made a careful lane shift, and exited the freeway.
Unfortunately, I apparently picked the one exit that led directly to industrial seclusion and to what looked like the perfect setting for my own, real life episode of Gangland. For the entire stretch of road, between the factories and warehouses, there was only one dingy orange street light. But dude, my car was about to disassemble itself, remember? So I pulled under the one hazy light and stepped out to survey the damage – only a mangled tire. Okay, well, that’s not hopeless, right? Right. No biggie.
I reached for my phone only to discover that not only had I picked the one exit that led to Creepy Warehouseville, I’d also managed to land in a stretch where my phone couldn’t get service. It was at this point that I wrote off the morning’s plans, realized I was slightly screwed, and proceeded to calmly, collectedly … freak the fuck out. It was 7:30 in the morning, the sun wasn’t up yet, I didn’t have cell phone reception (thus no GPS either), had no idea where I was (except that it was Sketchy Town), and obviously, no one else knew where I was, either.
Since there was no way in hell I was staying in the shadowy parking lot, I did the only thing I could think to do: I got back in the car, fired her up, and hobbled down the road in search of human life, with the blown tire grating in protest all the way. Afraid of pushing my luck too far, I pulled into the first somewhat inhabited-looking lot that I could find, and made for the brightly lit office nestled between several loading docks. The older gentleman inside was (fortunately) extremely kind and helpful, and ushered me to his desk.
“Of course, young lady, come right on in here and there’s a phone right there on that desk with your name on it. You just do whatever you need to do, and don’t worry about a thing.”
Naturally, I reached only voicemail after voicemail after voicemail after voicemail. I finally got a hold of my older sister, and she got me straightened out with our roadside assistance benefits, so help was called for and on the way soon after.
After the tire was changed out, and a replacement purchased in town, I proceeded to get lost as hell on someone’s directions not once, not twice, but three times. Ultimately, I decided that screw it, I was falling back on the people I knew, so I stopped at an animal hospital. Good choice – I was met with desperately needed coffee and equally desperately needed directions. Sure, the directions may have involved phrases like “you go that way a ways” and “pass a sign that says …”, but they also included a tip about recognizing the exit I needed, despite it being unmarked. And with that little gem of information, voila!, I was homeward bound.
So, moral of the story. Blown tire + dark side-streets + no cell phone reception + no GPS + scratched birthday plans = rather exhausted, slightly shook-up Inky. And the best part? I’m doing it over again next week, weather-permitting. So there, North Carolina … so there. In the meantime, I suppose I should hunt down something to do this weekend that might mark the occasion of turning 21…but bah, fucking last minute planning.
As a random, bonus side-thought, do you know what’s really weird about all of this? I’ve been compulsively inspecting my tires for like, the last three months (much to my father’s aggravation). I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up, despite all evidence (and professional opinion) to the contrary. Even weirder, I had a dream a few weeks ago about having a flat on a dark highway somewhere out of state. It was a different highway than the one I was on this morning, but in the dream, it was a trucker that helped with the tire then, too. Just strange. Cue the Twilight Zone music, I guess…
