Rough Morning

I had a rough morning Wednesday.

Horrible cramps woke me up at 2:30 which is always pleasant. Ladies, you can attest. Once I finally fell back to sleep, I snoozed my alarms so much that I woke up a half an hour later than I usually do. That’s fine, still enough time to make it to work by 7. Left my apartment about six minutes later than I usually do but still in good shape.

Alfred, the day I got him and set off a
whole stream of mechanics visits

Got into Alfred, my car, and turned the key in the ignition.

Click.

Noooooo.

I turned the key again.

Click.

Took the key out, prayed to the car gods, and tried again.

Click. 

The lights on my dashboard came on, the alert messages scrolled through all their possibilities, the dome light was on, but the radio wasn’t working.

I cussed a few times, gathered up my stuff, and headed back into my apartment to figure out what to do next.

First thing: email my boss to let her know I would be late, if I made it at all.

Second thing: call Dad.

Yeah, I am a 34-year-old grown-ass woman whose first thought when shit goes sideways is to call her father. I’m not ashamed.

His response: “I can’t do anything about that.”

Me: “I know, just tell me what to do.”

I rolled through all of Alfred’s symptoms, all the while praying it was just the battery because I figured any other answer was going to be super expensive to fix.

He asked if the car was in park. Considering I’ve turned my car off without it being in park exactly twice before (shut up, it was years ago and I was young and dumb), I was hoping that was the answer. I went out and checked. No, that wasn’t the answer, car was in park. He suggested I try starting the car in neutral. No idea what that would do but Dad said to try it so I tried it. Didn’t help.

His diagnosis was that the battery was dead (thank goodness!). His advice: call AAA to get a jump and take it to Auto Zone, O’Reilly’s, or someplace like that and get a new one.

I checked opening times and every place opened at 7:30 am. At this point, it was 7:10 am and I decided to wait and call places to make sure they’d install the battery for me and how long it would take. I also researched battery prices to see how much this latest episode of Alfred breaking would cost.

7:35 arrived and I called the closest place, Auto Zone. Yes, they would install the battery for me and it would only take 10-15 minutes.

“Perfect! I’ll call AAA for a jump and be right there.”

Thank you, Mom, for the Christmas gift that keeps on giving.

Called AAA, the helpful lady said somebody would be out to me by 9:20 to help. Odd time but I’ll take it.

I wandered around my apartment for 20 minutes, trying to decide what to do to kill the 1.5 hours I had when my phone rang. It was the AAA service guy. He asked some additional questions about what my car was doing, I rolled through the symptoms again, and he said he’d be there in 15 minutes.

Hooray!

It was 8:00 by this time. I was an hour late for work, my anxiety was at an 11, and I was still praying to the car gods that it was just the battery. I texted my coworkers to let them know the situation and I killed the rest of the time by terrorizing Toothless and stalking the service guy on the GPS map they texted me.

When he was two minutes away, I gathered up my purse, lunch bag, and mask and headed out to my car. I popped the hood and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The crappy thing about living in an apartment complex is that GPS always takes people to the wrong entrance and they get lost, never to be seen or heard from again.

When I was beginning to despair of ever seeing the service guy, he finally pulled up, dug out all his gadgets, and got to work. I tried to be cool but one way I control my anxiety is by getting as much information as I can so, I asked as many questions about what he was doing and battery stuff in general as I dared. He was super nice and answered my questions, offered advice, and gave great battery post cleaning tips. (You can use Coke to clean the corrosion off your battery posts but don’t do that in the summer or you’ll get ants.)

My battery was in fact dead. It had a bad cell and that wouldn’t allow the starter to function. He offered to install a new battery for me for free, I’d just pay for the battery.

Did you know that AAA service people carry extra batteries in their trucks and will install them for you?? I had no idea. I wished I knew before Wednesday morning. I would’ve called them as soon as I hung up with my dad instead of wasting almost an hour for stores to open.

Yes, please and thank you. Put that sucker in there and save me a stop at Auto Zone.

So, he scrubbed the corrosion off the wires that connect to the battery with a wire brush, pulled out the old battery, and dropped a new one in there. He got everything hooked back up and told me to try to start up the car.

Click.

Nooooooo.

He looked around at the engine, trying to find the answer. Messed with the wires connecting to the battery a bit then told me to try it again.

Click.

“That’s the starter.”

My heart, my stomach, and my spleen dropped into my shoes at the three words I was hoping to not hear.

I sputtered out “You’re thinking my starter is bad, too?”

Him: “It sounds like it’s not turning over but even if it was going out, it should still start with a brand new battery.”

I was picking up what he was putting down. My old car, St. Jude, named after the patron saint of lost causes and desperate cases (the car was well named), had a bad starter that wrecked a new battery the day before Thanksgiving. In the snow. Good times.

If you don’t know, I have terrible luck with cars. Some is my own damn fault (RIP Minerva) but a lot of it is just bad circumstances. I’ve very familiar with cars not starting, cars just randomly stopping on the road, flat tires, blown tires, and the check engine light.

He pulled a can of something out of his truck and removed the wires on the battery, sprayed the posts and the wires with the stuff, then connected it all again.

“Give it another try.”

One more prayer to the car gods and I turned the key.

IT’S ALIVE!!!

Words tripped over themselves as I tried to express my gratitude to this car wizard and his magic spray can.

I then confirmed that the starter is, in fact, not bad, it was just a connection thing and he reassured me that I’m good to go.

I paid the good man, thanked him a million more times, texted my coworkers to let them know that I was headed to work, and set off.

Pulling out of my apartment parking lot, Alfred let me know that my left rear tire was low on air.

That’s it, ya’ll. I’m marrying a mechanic.