My Poor Car

My car is small like me.  Also like me is its ability to take a punch.  Okay, I don't know if I could take a punch, so this punch is metaphorical.  It's a strong little bugger.  I know this because yesterday when I came out of teaching my dynamic yoga class, all relaxed and joyful, I walked down the street where my car was parked and saw from a distance what looked like paint scraped across the front fender.

Yep, someone had sideswiped my car pretty hard.  I took pictures immediately of my car and then looked around all kinds of helplessly, wondering what I could do.  I mean, it was parked.  There was no note.

Seriously

My car is bleeding.

Then I realized that the car parked in front of mine was red.  And the paint on my car was red.  Walking around to the passenger side of this red car, I saw my white paint all across the rear door and fender. 

Persons in this picture are taller than they appear.

Nice face

This driver clearly did not know they sideswiped my car because when you do such a thing and you don't leave a note, you drive away as to not be caught.  This person did not drive away.  Instead, they crammed the red car into a space in which it did not fit behind another car and in front of a driveway.  I was on the other side of the driveway with about three feet of wiggle room in front of me.  This person, clearly, should not be driving.  Or parking.

I called Eddie because that's what you do.  He told me to call 911.  I was like, It's not an emergency.  He was like, Call anyway and apologize that it's not an emergency.  I called 411 instead and they connected me to the local precinct directly.

As I started to explain the situation, the man on the other end of the line stopped me and asked, Do you think this is the police?  I responded, Yes because 411 connected me to you.  He said, I'm not the police and I've been getting these calls.  I said, Apologies to you and you should get in contact with 411.

So I called 911.  They took my info and soon enough, a squad car pulled up. I explained to the police officer what happened and then asked hopefully, Can you do anything?

He said that it was difficult to file a report when both cars were parked but he did some police investigative magic to see if the car belonged to anyone who lived on the street.  No luck.  He took my info, though, and filled out some paperwork.  He told me he used to be in insurance and explained what would probably happen. 

He took another look at how the car was parked and said, I'm also issuing a ticket for blocking a driveway.  The car's rear bumper was hanging over the driveway.  See? The space was totally too small.  He offered, It was probably someone in a rush for the train.

I responded, But this is two hour parking!  If you come back, you can issue a parking ticket, too. 

I was joking.  Not really.  I was steamed.

Then he took a moment and said, You're lucky she didn't drive away (he'd ascertained the name of the owner).

I said, All she had to do was leave a note.  But I guess you can't leave a note when you don't know you hit a car.

He handed me my stuff and said the report would read that her car clearly hit mine and he could attest to it.  I thanked him and drove away.  He backed up his car to where I had been parked and began to write her ticket.

Namaste

The Return Of The Leases

It sucked. Everything about it sucked. We called Toyota to make an appointment to return Yolanda the Yaris because every piece of mail I received, every email, every prior phone call regarding my final inspection (which showed the car didn't have even normal wear and tear--as if it's brand new!) said to make an appointment. The woman on the phone said that they don't make appointments and that we should return it in the morning on a weekday to avoid having to be there for hours. My mom followed me to Toyota on a weekday morning, and when I said I was there to return my lease, the woman asked, Do you have an appointment?

I. Shit. You. Not.

So I said, I was told on the phone when I called that you don't make appointments. She asked who told me that. I said a very nice woman on the phone. She asked me to wait on a couch, so I waited on a couch. The lease manager appeared, and I recognized him as the salesguy who got me into the Yaris. He asked what I was doing for a car and I told him I'd bought a VW. After going out to the car to retrieve the plates, he told me that they were offering some really good deals if I wanted to buy it out. Because I obviously need a 3 year old Yaris in addition to the brand new VW. So I told him I would never buy the Yaris because the cup holders were in the dumbest place ever. My mother was mortified that I would say such a thing to a car guy, but really, it was the truth. It bugged me for 3 years.

For Chevy? I'm pretty sure they descend directly from evil spirits. They refused to accept his car back early even though he was paying through to the end of the lease. I even called and said that we were moving to another country in a week because of a work emergency, and while Chevy in general was sympathetic in giving me different dealerships that might take it back, the actual dealer we dealt with did not want it back. They said they had no room on the lot. We could not bring it back for months. Until I called on a random morning and a manager told me I could bring it in any day at any time.

I. Shit. You. Not.

So I asked, You mean even though you don't have room on the lot I can bring it back? She was like, we can take it. I was like, so why are we told every day until now that we can't bring it back? She was like, Well you can but just not tomorrow.

Eventually, Eddie just brought it there and refused to leave until they took it.

A few days later, GM called to see when he was returning his lease.

I. Shit. You. Not.

I told the woman that we'd returned it. She asked to which dealership. I told her it was Bical Chevy in Valley Stream and asked if they'd told GM. Nope, GM had no record of the car being returned. I told her that we'd been having problems with that dealership for a long time and asked what we could do. She couldn't tell me more because my name wasn't on the car, but by the time Eddie got back in touch with her, Bical had finally been in touch with GM. There was a disposition fee, however, that the folks at Bical didn't even mention ever, and the woman said there could also be charges for wear and tear. Eddie was like, I have a signed paper that says there's no wear and tear so I'm not paying any charge that shows I have any.

Thankfully, both cars are now in dealerships or with new owners somewhere out there in the universe and we no longer have to deal with that kind of car stupidity. Yeay!

The Back Issue

Remember when Speedy Baddriverson whacked the back of my car with her car back in January?  Perhaps you've forgotten.  You know what hasn't forgotten?  My back.  Six months later, it's worse than it was. 

Originally, I went to an orthopedist. He gave me a booklet of exercises to strenthen my core even though I told him I'm pretty good with exercises that strengthen my core and stretch and relax my back.  I tried them, figuring it couldn't hurt.  I even incorporated Martha Peterson's Somatics of Pandiculation into my routine, something Eddie's back doctor told him to try for his back problems.  So the two of us rolled around on the living room floor night after night pandiculating.  That might sound dirty until you look up what pandiculation is.  I won't do the work for you.

When I returned to the orthopedist two weeks later, my thoracic back spasms and lower back stiffness had not subsided.  He gave me a prescription for physical therapy which included TENS, massage, and movement to gain core strength.  So I went to a PT that was a pretty small and laid back place.  Basically, appointments really didn't matter, and most of the stuff I could do on my own.  They had me lifting three pound weights for bicep curls. My normal routine is three sets of curls using ten pound weights, so the three pounders I could basically throw across the room pretty far.  However, I understood they were learning what I could handle and I wasn't going to throw myself into 10 pounds when I was injured. 

Some of the exercises made sense like the inner and outer rotations for my shoulders and the cable pulls for my shoulders, back, and core.  I couldn't make sense of why I had to ride a stationary bike for eight minutes, though.  That was dumb, but I approached the entire experience as being able to go to a gym and have a personal trainer.  The PT people are not personal trainers; they are medical professionals. But it was very similar, and I've always wanted to go to the gym and have a trainer.  I did have one on one attention at times, but when the place got busy, the PT would run between person to person, checking up on everyone at different times.

I liked the people there.  They were encouraging and knew their stuff.  I was on my own for a lot of the stuff after a few weeks because I clearly knew what I was doing.  Each session ended with fifteen minutes hooked up to the TENS. Ooooh, shoot electricity through my muscles any day of the week!  I fell asleep sometimes. 

In the meantime, I was taking muscles relaxers and anti-inflammatories whenever the pain and stiffness got really bad.  I'm not a pill popper, so for me to take something, it had to be bad.  At times, it was bad, so I took something, but overall, I laid off they pills.

However, after weeks of therapy 3 times a week and returning to the ortho, I was still having back spasms.  I got a new script and returned to therapy and got a massage plus what I call a sonogram but it's not a sonogram.  I can never remember the name of it.  It's something that sends some sort of magic deep into the muscles.  The therapist ran it up and down the spasms.  After that, the spasms went away.

I continued therapy, my back feeling stronger but still stiff.  One spasm happened over the course of a few weeks, which was a good thing because it wasn't one a day and it wasn't one that lasted an entire night, both of which had happened in the past.  I finished out therapy about two weeks later.

Two days after therapy ended, I awoke in the middle of the night, my back in a spasm and my lower back experiencing searing pain.  I had not been cured.  I had been temporarily faked out.

Before returning to the orthopedist, I was sent by my no fault insurance to whom I'll call Dr. Quack.  I got a letter saying I had to see an orthopedist approved by my insurance to evaluate my condition.  The doctor was nice enough, explaining that she was not there to treat me but to evaluate me.  She asked me to bend forward.  I bent forward.  She asked me to bend to the sides.  I bent to the side.  She asked me to bend backwards.  I said, No, I can't.  She asked me how far I could.  I couldn't do it at all.  My back was killing me.  A lump of gross muscle spasm stuff had developed in my lower back.  So gross.  So painful. 

A few days later, I went to the orthopedist and explained how the pain was mostly now in my lumbar spine and the surrounding muscles.  He asked if I'd taken any anti inflammatories or muscle relaxers.  I said that I hadn't, explaining that since the pain was different and in a different place, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do.  He told me he could prescribe more therapy.  I said okay, but that it hadn't helped.  Then he said, I'm going to give you a packet of excercises so you can strengthen your core.

I'd been holding things together pretty well until that moment.  All this unexpected mayhem.  All this health-related chaos. I'm a relatively fit person, and in not being able to do my normal workouts, in not being able to wake up feeling like a normal person, in not being able to do yoga--something that's supposed to help back pain--I was slowly not myself anymore.  And it was pissing me off.

So I said to the doctor, I'm not sure that's going to help since I'm a certified yoga instructor and I've been doing all the things I'm supposed to do for core strength and back pain, and nothing is working and I just don't know what to do anymore.  His response was, I'll get you that packet.  He talked into his little tape recorder and his assistant came in with the same packet he'd given me months before.

I took the packet of core strengtheners, rolled it up, and swiftly beat him with it.

Okay, I didn't do that.

I took the packet, took the script, and then I left.

When I got home, I found a letter from my no fault in the mail.  According to Dr. Quack, I was perfectly fine, and so my no fault would no longer cover orthopedic treatment or any secondary treatment--like pt--under the category of orthopedic.  So on the day my own orthopedist, however idiotic he is, gave me a new round of PT and another packet of core strengtheners because my back issues were still present, Dr. Quack said the exact opposite.

I lost my shit.  I called the insurance.  I left a message saying exactly that: I'm not sure how your doctor says I'm fine when I'm in pain and my own doctor sent me to therapy.

I found out that while orthopedic treatment is no longer an option, I can still get treatment by other things like neurology, pain management, chiropractic, massage, and any other thing I can think of.  The trick is that you can't ask in advance, will this be covered?  You simply have to find a doctor that accepts no fault and have the doctor submit the claim to no fault and hope that it goes through.  If it doesn't, then technically you're not responsible for it.  However, when you go to any doctor, in the paperwork you have to fill out is a form that says you will be held responsible for any payment no fault does not cover.  So really, it's a crap shoot of medical finance gambling.  I'm thinking of moving to Canada.

Anyway, I started researching pain management until one of my friends sent me the info for her chiropractor, a doctor she raves about, and she's not a raver of the medical industry at all.  This past week, I went.

I've met Eddie's chiropractor, and he's a very positive, very energetic guy.  The guy I saw this week is just the same.  Maybe there's a special kind of person you have to be to work on people's backs.  When he took my history, he said things like, "that's not good," "I'm really concerned about that," and "ooh, you're too young to have that complaint."  But then followed up everything with, we are going to work on that!

Two days before my appointment, Eddie and I had gone into the city for Summer Solstice In Times Square: Mind Over Madness.  Details on that later, but for now, just know that I couldn't do it.  It was a slow vinyasa class and I couldn't do most of it.  Then the day after that, the day before my appointment, my ass hurt.  It got progressively worse throughout the day to the point where I couldn't move and just stayed on the couch. 

So when the doctor asked if the pain had radiated down anywhere, I grabbed my ass and said, Well I tried doing yoga over the weekend and now all of this hurts, and I feel how it's connected directly to the place on my back where it hurts most.  Then when he found out that I can't teach yoga, he was like, Wow so this is affecting your work too. I explained that yoga wasn't my primary job, but it was nice to earn some pocket change over the summers, and now I can't.

He listened a lot.  He was really sympathetic.  He even asked if it was affected my mood (yes: I'm pissed off) and my marriage (yes: I can now empathize with the husband's back pain).

Then came the assessment.  He had me lie down on my stomach and let gravity do its thing for a few minutes.  When he came back in, he said, You're probably feeling where you're having the most trouble by now.  Yup, exactly.  He touched all the places where I was having problems without my having to tell him where I was having problems.  It was like Pain ESP.  He bent my legs, asked me to turn my head, and then said, There it is!, following up by asking me if my neck hurt.  I said no.  He asked, It doesn't hurt in here?  And that small perfect touch in that one spot made me realize that yes, indeed, my neck hurt. 

He had me stand on two scales, one foot on each. I carry my weight three pounds to the right, which isn't so horrible, but within one pound is better.  He had me stand in front of a frame that had all different threads attached to it and asked me to look in the mirror: which ear is higher?  which shoulder is higher?  which hip is higher?

When he'd exclaimed, There it is!, he saw that when I turned my head to the left, my legs evened out, but with my head face down or to the right, one leg was shorter than the other.  He found every single spasm and place of inflammation.  One ear, one shoulder, one hip should not be higher than the other. 

He used some sort of instrument on my back to find inflammation. I'm not sure what it's called so I'll just call it the Magical Heat Seeking Gun.  He rolled the Magical Heat Seeking Gun up my lower back, mid back, and then neck.  On the computer screen I could see orange and yellow pop up next to different vertebrae.  That meant inflammation.  Then he asked, Are you on muscle relaxers?

Me, the girl who never takes a pill, had taken a muscle relaxer for the ass pain the day before.  I told him so and he said, It's still in your system because the inflammation isn't showing up right now.  Next time, we'll do it again and see what comes up.  And here I thought those things didn't work because they didn't make me feel any better.  Apparently, all they do is make me tired and screw up data.

He also asked me if I had scoliosis at any point.  Nope, not to my knowledge.  He said that the muscles on one side of my spine were smooth and the others were in a large mound.

Basically, I'm all fucked up.

I laid back down on my stomach for another few minutes.  He came back in to take X-Rays, triple checking that I wasn't pregnant.  Dude, if I'm pregnant right now, I'm just giving up on life.  Who can have a baby amid all this chaos?  (really, who can have a kid ever?  but that's another question for a different time).

He took a bunch of X-Rays, explaining to me what each one was for.  The only drawback of the whole experience were his instructions to turn left and right.  You see, I do not know my left from my right, especially in circumstances when I'm asked out of nowhere very quickly to turn in either way.  So that was a mess with me asking which way again? but otherwise, it was a pleasant experience.

When all was said and done, he told me to bring Eddie back with me so he could hear all the results, too, and we could discuss my plan to get me back to better.  He reiterated that I was too young and too fit to be having these issues.  Then he said, Now I'm going to offer you a hydromassage before you go.  I of course said yes because that sounded magical. 

I want a hydromassage bed in my house immediately.

The receptionist-do-everything-the-office-needs-person at the front put me on the bed and dimmed the lights and told me, Just be careful when you get up.  I don't know how long I was on it, but for however long it was, I was in heaven.  Warm water rumbled under me and gave my back a fantastic beating.  When it was over, I rolled myself off the bed all sad that I couldn't stay there forever.

And so I'm returning tomorrow to find out the news and the plan.  What exactly is going on with my back and where.  What exactly what I can do about it.  How much it could cost.  I'm pretty sure no fault will pay for at least some of it, but when I get that letter to go to Dr. Quack The Sequel, I'll know I'll be back at the crossroads of how much can I spend on my back to feel good while also being able to pay for things like water and lights.  Which means I'm pretty sure I'll be entering into a third world I've never had an interest in: the wonderful world of litigation--from finding an attorney to suing Speedy Baddriverson to hoping it's all over soon.  Well, I've already hoped it would be all over soon.  The hope doesn't seem to be enough.

What Can I Do To Get You In A Car Tonight Even Though You Already Said Nothing?

Car shopping is one of the most soul-sucking experiences, very close to completing education assessment activities (academics, can I get a heck yes?).  As the date of the end of my lease approached, I started cringing.  Eddie and I looked at every car on the rode every time we drove.  I was set on getting a small truck, a crossover, something that would keep me safe from the Speedy Baddriversons of the world.  Eddie's lease was going to end at about the same time, so he, too, was looking.  Our goal was to get two cars that we both liked that we could both drive.  Nothing fancy needed. Well, I didn't need anything fancy--and Eddie was going for a little bit fancy--and I don't consider having bluetooth being fancy, but apparenty, it comes with a fancy package.  Also not fancy?  Power locks and power windows.  Unless you're a car dealership.  Then those are considered fancy dancy doo.

Where did we shop?  Everywhere.  Online.  In dealerships.  How did it go?  Eh.

We went to Ford to check out the Edge.  The guy at Ford was the most professional and courteous car guy ever.  He let us browse.  We climbed into and out of cars.  We opened and closed doors and trunks.  We took home literature.  We went back and test drove.  I climbed into the Edge and climbed right back out because I couldn't see a thing over the dashboard.  We tested the Fusion and the Escape.  They were easy to drive, easier than I'd thought, but the Fusion felt too low and the Escape was just so big.  I know it's a smaller truck, but for me, it was big.

Ford? Maybe.

Since I had a Toyota Yaris, I figured I'd take a gander at the RAV 4.  I liked the look of the speedy mini trucks on the road.  Apparently, they don't make those anymore.  They make these colossal crossovers that should be called trucks but are not.  The sales guy told me it looked big because we were inside.  Apparently, I don't understand the concept of indoors and cramped space versus outdoors and into the great wide open.  Then he asked me if I wanted the car and how much I wanted to put down.  I was like, well, I'd have to drive the car and know the price first to tell you that. He said, Let's go for a test drive.

In the garage, the RAV 4 still looked big.  Maybe "in the garage" counts as being inside.  He was saying to Eddie that the older smaller version wasn't his favorite, and Eddie was agreeing.  But I was the one buying the car and wanting a smaller version, so he wasn't really fighting the good fight.

We took it out onto the road.  It still felt big, even in the outdoors.  The salesguy was touting the room in the back, completely contradicting what he'd said earlier about it not being that big.  He kept using words like spacious and roomy.  And then he said the go-to line that all salespeople say to me and Eddie no matter what we're buying--a gaming system, a television, a car, a computer--it's great for the kids.

And that's when I get to have fun.  Sure that line works wonderfully for those young couples who have or plan to have a bunch of bundles of joy.  However, we are not those couples.  So as soon as he said I could fit the whole family in the back, I said, Yeah, we won't be having any of those. Then Eddie followed up with, Yup, no kids, no pets, no plants.  It's our mantra.  That shut up the sales guy for a few moments.  A few awkward and stunned moments in which I delighted and squealed on the inside with glee.  Oh it's so much fun to fuck with people.

Anyway, when we got back to the showroom, he was telling us about free car washes and oil changes in perpetuity when he got to: so how much to you want to put down?  And I was like: What's the price of the car?  And you know he still didn't give me a straight answer.  Hours were going by and he wasn't giving me an answer and was going back and forth to a manager and I kept saying to Eddie, we could just leave now.  Every time he came back, he would say something about buying soon and getting a good deal.  I kept saying, I'm not buying anything tonight.  I told him that I was going to drive out my lease, and he checked it for mileage and condition and told me he could waive the restocking fee if I bought that night.  I was like, no thanks.  (BTW: The fee was waived anyway because of the year in which I leased it, so that wasn't a great incentive, now was it).

Then he said it.  He actually said it. "What can I do to get you into this car tonight?"

So then I said it.  "Nothing."

Then somehow the attention got directed towards Eddie and a great deal for that night.  They actually shook on it.  When the salesguy walked away,  Eddie was like, You know he's not coming back with any kind of deal that would make us jump.  And I was like, You know he shook on it with you and that has nothing to do with me and my not buying this car.

And the guy returned and did not have a deal like, Here take this roomy family fun car for free. Instead, it was more like give us a lot of money and we will charge you a 1.9% interest rate.  So Eddie started pointing at numbers on the paper and saying, Well this is a problem because...and this is not good because.... And finally, Eddie was like, Do you have a card? Which is totally code for: I'm done with you I'm hungry I'm tired I don't like your so called deals and I'm going to throw out your card as soon as we leave.

We had to meet the manager.  We always have to meet the manager.  The manager tried to get us to lease the car instead for a very low price, like 100-something a month.  We walked out anyway and Eddie said, That's actually a great deal.  And I said, Yeah, if you put down five grand on a lease.  And he was like, Oh yeah, that's probably what he meant.

Toyota?  Nope.

We went to Nissan to see the new Rogue.  Eddie's sister used to drive one and she loved it.  We walked into the showroom and no one said anything to us.  We looked at the Juke and some other cars and still no one approached us.  I kind of like not being harassed, but this was too extreme.  Finally, someone came over to us after five minutes and asked what we were looking for.  I said I wanted to see the Rogue.  He took me to the back of the showroom, explaining it was the brand new model.

It looked big.  Like super big.  I said so, and he said, Yes it's bigger than last year's.  We got in and out and walked around.  One of the doors was too close to a salesperson's desk and almost hit the people who were sitting there.  Because it's so big.  Or maybe because, as I learned at Toyota, it's big because it's inside.

Once we got out of the car without harming anyone, the sales guy actually said this: You don't want this car.

I shit you not.

He went on to explain that there were no deals on it and we should come back in a few months when we could get a deal, but we should definitely not get it now.

We agreed because how can you counter that?  Then Eddie spotted a new version of a car he used to own and made me sit in it.  I may as well have dug a hole in the floor and sat in it.  I disappeared in the driver's seat.  And then we left with the glee of what I like to call The Best Worst Sales Pitch Ever.

Nissan?  Nope.

I went back and forth over email with Subaru.  I asked about pricing for the Forester.  Basically, it was a reasonable price but the financing was something crazy like 4% AND that the Forester may not be available but I could get a different car.  I was like, no thank you--with excellent credit, I'm not paying interest at that rate, and especially not for a car I'm not interested in.  A few days later, I got an email from the same salesperson saying that I could get a Forester and the interest would be 0.5 to 1%.

Which proves that this entire car business is a SHAM. For shame, car dealerships, for shame!

Subaru?  Nope.

I became more and more interested in the Juke, thinking that all the mini trucks had been way too big, so the Juke could be a cute crossover. Plus, it reminds me of the Beetle, and I've always loved that car.  So Nissan was back in, but we went to a different dealership because if we went to the one we'd already gone to, the guy was going to tell us to never get a new car ever again.

The dealership we went to did not have the Juke.  They had a Versa.  I test drove it.  It accelerated weirdly, all the while the salesperson saying, It's got a great transmission.  Umm, no it doesn't.  I kept my mouth shut because I wanted to see what he said after the test drive.  As I suspected, instead of asking me if I liked it, he asked what I could put down for it.  Eddie was like, she didn't like it--which spoiled my game!

The guy, desperate at not having a Juke to sell me, asked if I wanted to try the Rogue Select.  It's a smaller version of the new Rogue.  We looked at it in the lot.  It was smaller.  I liked it.  We climbed in.  I liked it because I could see.  Then we took it for a drive and even though it was an okay ride, I felt like I was still driving the Versa.  If I'm driving a mini truck, I want to feel like I'm in a truck, not a teeny car.  The acceleration was the same odd acceleration, but it was easy to drive and I figured I could get used to it.

The salesguy promised me the world.  Free car wash.  Free oil change.  For life!  Discount for being a teacher.  Discount for being a public worker.  Discount for being a teacher in the public system! He pressed and pressed and offered lower and lower interest rates--but not as low as I liked--and wanted me to put a shitload of money down--which I wasn't going to do. The more he talked, the less I liked the car.

He said the deal he could offer me would be available only that night. I said there was no way I was getting a car that night.  Then he said, Okay can you meet my manager?  That took a good ten minutes of waiting for the manager to come over.  I told Eddie: we could just leave.  He was like, This is what they do--they think you're going to change your mind.  I said, I'm not like that.  He said, most people are.  I said, their usual plan works the opposite on me.

Then the manager showed up.  By the time we were all through with the discussion, I could have bought the Rogue Select for 18K complete with bluetooth, backup camera, and all the other perks of the package that I didn't care about.  The price dropped about 6K in five minutes.  Plus all the discounts and incentives, I was looking at a very cheap car.

Once again proving, it's all a SHAM.

We left.  The guy called a few more times.  I realized I absolutely hated the car and was thinking about buying it only out of desperation and despondence.

Nissan?  Nope.  Again.

We went back to Ford.  Deciding to lease one car and buy the other, Eddie got the Edge as a lease. Perhaps I'll grow in the next three years and be able to drive it. (I've driven it once--if I have to drive it, I can, and I'm really good with the backup camera, so maybe I'll just drive it everywhere in reverse). I told the salesguy I was still on the fence about car versus crossover.  He told me to take my time deciding.  I like this guy.

Ford?  Yup.

And then we went to Volkswagen. I'd emailed about the Jetta and found out there was 0% financing available.  I'd stayed away from VW because the mpg is not as good as other cars I look at, but since I'd been planning to get a crossover or truck that would use more gas anyway, I figured a car at VW with poorer mpg wasn't the worst thing in the world.

The salesguy showed us all the features of the Jetta, which included his punching the headlights to show how they were durable.  Eddie enjoyed that. Next to the Jetta was the Golf.  I'd never seen one, barely heard of one, and I liked it very much.  I'd already decided not to get a Bug because it was not practical, but this little Golf was adorable.  And so sporty--it had a bike on top of it.

Then I got my crazy cranking: could I get an incentive because I'm part German?  is it possible to throw in the bike if I buy a car?  I wanted a toy Beetle and a poster.  I wanted the little man on top of the car.

I'd been doing enough car shopping that I was ready to do business.  Everything else was kind of a dress rehearsal.  This was the real deal.  I drove the Jetta.  Then I drove the Golf.  The Jetta was less expensive, but the Golf was where my heart landed.  We haggled.  Eddie asked the salesman for his card.  We left.

At home, we crunched numbers. I serendipitously got an email from SUNY perks about a car program.  I did the research and returned to VW with these incentives.  The salesguy explained how they work and how they lie and I haggled more and more.  One sticking point was that to get bluetooth, I had to get a sunroof.  He said that they do not leak.  I said I didn't want one.  Eddie said he'd love a sun roof.  The salesguy took the incentive printouts to the manager and finance guy.

After all that, I got another 200 bucks knocked off the price.  I'm pretty sure because I was annoying.  I like being annoying.  In all the joy of finally finding a car, I forgot to set forth my demands of a German discount and throwing in show room items. I filled out paperwork.  Eddie liked the pen I was using, so he took it.  When the salesguy came over with a receipt, I had to find my own pen, and then everything else I filled out was in a different color ink.  Either he didn't notice or he figured he'd give up a pen for the sale of a car.

Free because Eddie took it

A week later, I went in to sign papers and pick up my car.  The Day of The Wrench.  Why?  Because I had to sit with a pushy finance guy who was explaining how the monthly price I'd settled on was not possible if I wanted coverage and if I couldn't spend a lot of money, then I should definitely raise the monthly price to have more coverage because I obviously could not afford repairs down the road and it's good to be covered.  I called Eddie, who spoke to the guy directly and then to me, and we decided not to take any extra stuff because we have a warranty and then we have good insurance.  After that, with every printout the guy asked me to sign, he punctuated it with: and no more coverage and that's your choice.  As if the decision I'd just made was the worst one of my life.  The only bad decision that day was refraining from socking him in the eye.

When I got back to the salesguy, he introduced me to the sales manager.  Because that's necessary if you're in a car dealership.  The manager asked how everything was, and I said, Everything has been wonderful except for today and your finance guy throwing numbers and prices at me without knowing that was going to happen.  He mumbled something about how they like being able to offer their customers the best service options, and I replied, Yes, but it would have been nice to know about when I set up the original price--but everything else was great!

Then we did more paperwork.  Then I got keys.  Then I walked outside and climbed into my car and drove away.  Yeay!

The series of pics my mom took while using my iPhone when I got the car home.

Volkswagen? Yup!

And now?  Eddie and I are one of those couples--not the kind that have kids, but the kind that match.

What Happened In February?

Basically, I have no free time any more because any free time I used to have is now dedicated to getting my back better. February was filled with trips to the orthopaedist and the physical therapist. Three time a week, I have been going to physical therapy. I do a little bit of a workout to strengthen my muscles for support, and then I get hooked up to a machine that makes my back muscles pulse and contract and release. Sometimes, I get a massage! Once, I got something else that I always call a sonogram, but that's totally wrong and not what it's called but it deals with some kind of frequency going into my back muscles via a wand hooked up to a machine.

The Olympics happened! We all know how I love them, so C and J came over to watch the opening ceremonies. Since they were so friggin long, they left before the torch was lit. Eddie and I fell asleep but awoke in time during that very long and awkward run from the stadium to the torch the two people had to jog to light it. I had the games on in the background whenever I was home. I think that maybe I'll be an Olympic athlete next time it comes around. We'll see how my back is by then.

The SuperBowl happened. Eddie had a massive card game during the day. We all watched at night. I bought five boxes and almost won money but did not win money, and my dad wound up winning the quarter I would have won. Nice job, dad.  SMM and AF brought guacamole.  It was a highlight.

We went to the Ranger Game. We did not sit in the wheelchair section.

I got super sick and was not able to go to work. I actually took two sick days in a row. I had to have my mom drive me to the doctor because I could barely walk let alone drive a car. That all happened right before a snow day and then Winter Break followed, so I was out of work for two weeks in a row. I started feeling better in the middle of break, so I spent it catching up with what I hadn't done the week before. Thankfully, two colleagues jumped in to sub for my classes so my students didn't fall even further behind.

By the by, if you know of ancient remedy that will ward off germs, send it my way. I cannot keep getting sick. My alternative plan is to build my own air-filtered bubble a la John Travolta's The Boy In The Plastic Bubble flick.

I got my car fixed! After Speedy Baddriverson collided into my back bumper, my back bumper needed repair, and it was repaired by the very nice and efficient folks over at the collision place in Island Park. It was a Geico Express place, so I also got my rental car there. The rental was brand new and very pretty, but it made me realize just how high up my own driver's seat is as all other cars have sunken seats and I can pretty much see only an inch above the steering wheel. I'm happy to have my car back. They got it washed too! That, for me, was the best part.

Eddie and I celebrated Valentine's Day by making waffles. Something happened with the waffles. We don't know what. They still tasted yummy even though they came out more like scrambled waffles. He bought me a rose the night before Valentine's Day because he's amazing. I bought him a mini terrarium to grow beans that say "I Love You." We planted them and nothing has grown. Nevertheless, we still love each other.

To this day, it's still a pot of dirt.

Playing with my PopAGraph App

Lots of snow days.

Courtesy of S

Some free stuff.

I have yet to claim this because I can't find anyone who sells it.

Eh, free is free, right?

Short month. The end.

The Unfortunate Post

I have all kinds of fun stories to tell and I was looking forward to telling them in between checking my work email and new online and hybrid classes. Instead, I'm telling only one non-fun story and then getting off of the computer because I'm tired from the meds. Why am I taking meds? Because people can't drive.

I was driving home from work after teaching one class in which 12 of 24 showed up, which is more than I'd expected because this was Wednesday and some people were still snowed in. I was happy to be driving home on a road that was clear and dry and clean and not worrisome at all.

I got off the parkway and headed south on Peninsula, keeping to the right lane so everyone else not doing the speed limit could fly by. Up ahead, cars in front of me kept braking. So I kept braking even though I was about ten car lengths behind them. Then I was closer and closer even though I'd slowed down. I then saw an SUV stopped in the right lane with its hazards on. It was blocking traffic and people were trying to get over into the left lane. I came to a stop behind the two cars that had also come to a stop behind the SUV.

Speedy Baddriverson behind me did not come to a full stop. She bashed into the back of my car as she shouted Oh My God! How do I know she shouted Oh My God? Because I saw her coming at me in my rearview because as I stopped, I looked up to see what was behind me.

I squeezed down on my brake because I didn't want to bump into the people in front of me or the people in the left lane. The two cars ahead of me got around the SUV. The cars in the left lane swerved by. Then I made my way around the SUV, parked, and put my hazards on, all while shouting Nooooo Nooooo Nooooo. I don't know what I was saying No to.

I sat for a moment and saw Speedy Baddriverson pulling around me, looking at me, and then shaking her head. I think she knew that this was not good. The SUV pulled away, so now we were blocking traffic in the right lane and could not pull onto the shoulder because the snow had been plowed onto it an little Yolanda can't go up a small hill let alone go over a foot and a half of packed snow on the roadside.

I called the cops. I did not shout Noooo Noooo Noooo into the phone at them. They asked if there were injuries. I said, I don't think so. They said they'd be on their way. I stressed that we were blocking traffic and cars were swerving around to avoid us because there was no shoulder. They repeated that someone would come.

As I was on the phone, Speedy Badderiverson got out of her car and stood next to mine. She was standing in the middle of the two lanes where all the drivers were swerving. I rolled down my window and she said, I am so sorry--I couldn't stop my car in time. I said, Well, you shouldn't have been going so fast--please get back in your car because it's dangerous to stand there. She got back in her car seemingly oblivious to how dangerous this was to be in the middle of the lane.

I called Eddie. He stayed on the phone with me as I shouted about every single car that was careening towards us and swerving around at the last second because everyone was speeding and no one cared that my hazards were on. There were trucks coming. I knew if cars were behind those trucks, they wouldn't see us. The police were not showing up. Finally, I said to Eddie, I have to move! He said, Move then call the police.

I went around Speedy Baddriverson and waved for her to follow me. She did. I don't know if she knows why we moved. I found a righthand turn lane and parked in it with her behind me. Eddie arrived and parked behind her. I had to call the police two more times because they called and said they couldn't find us and then they redispatched the officers. I asked if I was going to get arrested for leaving the scene of the accident. He said I would not be arrested.

A police officer arrived and put his flashing lights on so people would stop lining up behind us in the turn lane. Why they were lining up behind cars with hazards on is beyond me. The officer asked where the collision happened. I explained after the first overpass but before the second. He said there might be a jurisdiction issue. I stressed that I had to move because it was dangerous. He said he'd do the report and took my info. Then I watched him talk to Speedy Baddriverson as she gestured and explained in her words what happened. I don't know why it took so long to say, I rammed into the back of her car because I was speeding and couldn't stop in time on the dry clean road.

The officer came back a few minutes later and informed me I could get the report online. He didn't say, Drive safely, or Good luck, or Hope it all works out. I don't think he cared much.

Eddie followed me home and then went back to work. My mom took me to urgent care. They did a whole rigamarole of stuff, gave me anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers, told me to rest, and warned me: It's going to get worse tomorrow. They also said I might have to follow up with treatment if I didn't feel better once the meds were done.

I submitted information to my car insurance on my app and they called me later on. They also said, It's going to get worse tomorrow.

It did get worse. Still, I had to make phone calls and take phone calls to doctors and insurance companies.

I thought I felt better this morning, but I was wrong. Once I started moving, everything hurt again. I have to call the insurance company again. I checked the website for the collision report and nothing is there yet. I checked the insurance website and there are a bunch of forms I have to fill out. I filled one out last night but decided the others had to wait because I was falling asleep from the meds and I didn't want to start writing in gibberish.

So, my semester has started with canceled classes from snow on day one and the morning of day two, and then with getting rear-ended by Speedy Baddriverson. This was not the week I'd planned to have.

When my head, neck, and back no longer ache -- whenever that will be -- I'll regale you with stories of Broadway and Motown and the Golden Globes and Las Vegas. For now, it's just medication and ice packs and heating pads and being really really annoyed.

Cooperstown U. S. A. Part I

When the halfway point of your trip is Roscoe, NY, aka Trout Town USA, you know you're entering into a world quite different from the suburbs of Long Island and the outer burroughs of NYC.  Cows and horses and chickens replace the manicured lawns and townhouses.  Go ahead--attempt to drive by cows in the distance without shouting, Cows! Cows!, or Mooooooooooo!

This is how Anthony, Eddie, and I filled our four hour drive up the interstate, up the thruway, and up and down the winding mountain roads, through Walton, through Franklin, through Oneonta, all the way to The Baseball Motherland.  The cow sightings were interrupted by the questions of Will this car go up this hill?  Why is the engine revving like that?  Are you sure you're in the right gear?  No, seriously, are you?  These questions came mostly from Anthony, owner of the car, directed towards me, driver of the car once we left Roscoe.  Our deal was that he would drive over the bridges and I would drive through the mountains.  There was no question of gears when we were over the bridges.  The incline of the mountain paths posed a challenge his car had never encountered previously.  And probably won't again.

As an added bonus challenge, it rained.  Whenever the sun poked out, I proclaimed, See?  I was right! We passed the storm!  Then it rained some more, and I pointed out, It's raining again, like really raining.

When we got to Oneonta, it was a crisp rain.  However, I didn't mind because the drive had been somewhat familiar, the tiny towns and barns and silos and hills and trees and winding backroads all coming back in dream-like snippets from the drives up during my undergrad days.  I didn't drive when I was in college; I got rides and checked out the scenery, navigating the way, so driving this time delighted me.  It also meant I couldn't navigate.  My brother in the passenger seat was in charge of that on the second leg.  My brother never texts.  So when we hit Oneonta, not only was my brother not navigating, but we missed the turn to Cooperstown because he was answering texts.  This, my friends, is irony.

Eddie in the backseat found this amusing.  He spent the drive taking pictures and video, some of the greenery, some of the livestock, and some of his wife and brother-in-law.  At one point, he got very excited by the sight of a llama.  My brother caught the excitement once he saw it.  I then explained that it was an alpaca, not a llama, because I am an animal expert since I watch Dr. Pol on TLC.

By the time we hit the Best Western, I was ready to give up driving forever.  Finding the hotel was easy.  We were happy to see that it was at the end of a strip mall that had fast food and a supermarket.  After checking in, we headed directly out to downtown Cooperstown to eat and check out the Fenimore Art Museum.  When we stepped out into the parking lot, Eddie said, It's hailing.  We looked down.  The precipitation was bouncing off the ground in tiny pellets.  Yup, this was Memorial Day Weekend weather in NY.  Sleeting.  Hailing.  Raining.  Fantastic.

We drove to find the museum.  We drove back to Main Street to find food.  We found metered parking at a muni-meter that didn't want to take credit cards so we scrounged around for quarters.  We found the very fancy Batters Up diner with their fancy menus.  We got seated in about ten minutes.  The server took our order in another ten minutes.

After about thirty five minutes, we got our food.  I almost died of starvation.  Seriously.

We devoured the food.  Fueled up, we headed back into the now-rain and went to the art museum to look at art.

Eddie at the art museum is fun.  Anthony reads everything.  I analyze the photos, sculptures, and paintings.  Eddie takes pictures of everything.  Like everything.  Of me.  Of Anthony.  Of the art.  Of descriptions of the art. Of security.  Of other patrons.  Of the entrance and exit.  Everything. Of course, it took very little time for my brother and I to jump right in and join the fun.

Exhausted from looking at all the art, making fun of all the titles of the pieces (like a painting of a girl with a red shoe was called Girl With A Red Shoe and a painting of a young black boy was called Black Child, which sent us into hysterics, the kind where other people were looking at us, questioning our sanity), driving, dodging rain drops, and waiting for food, we went back to our strip mall hotel.  Eddie and I grabbed Subway for me and McDonald's for him--fast food in that part of town is different from fast food here.  The McD order took about nine minutes.  Superfast in some places, I suppose.  But we weren't in a rush. We were on vacation!

Bad Advertising

I don't own a Chevy, but Eddie does, yet after our experience with the good folks over at Bical charging me a gazillion dollars for maintainance without first running it by me, we're not looking to do further business with them.  Instead of sending information to Eddie, they sent me this:

Then using some cross between Comic Sans and Mufferaw typeface, the sales manager typed on the back saying he was using his Son's drawing to illustrate how I could expect to win with them.  They are willing to give me $6740 for my 2002 Saturn.  They treat their customers like champions.  Then there's an another black and white line drawing at the bottom of a mom, dad, sister, brother, ungendered baby, two dogs, and two cats.

You know, my worst nightmare.

So a few things:

1. Why is son capitalized? Did he name his son Son?

2. How old is his son?  Either he's a five-year-old artistic genius or a thirteen-year-old who probably doesn't want his drawing from the refrigerator sent out to the public.

3. I don't like children, so why is a child's drawing supposed to make me buy a car?

4. I don't watch baseball, so why is a drawing of baseball going to entice me to buy a car?

5. What the hell does baseball have to do with cars?

6. Font that looks like handwriting shouldn't be in professional correspondence; I don't need another company telling me that we're family (listen up, Sprint!).

7. I own a Toyota, having traded in the Saturn when it almost exploded. Would you have paid me 6 grand for a car on the verge of exploding?  I don't think so.

A kind suggestion to Bical--nothing you do is right, so stop it.  Thank you.

Safelite, Repair? Safelite, Replace!

After a day-long trip upstate and back, I found that Yolanda, the cute little Yaris that I was slowly coming to like, cannot go uphill. Small hills of Long Island and downstate New York are fine. The real hills that emerge as soon as you hit central state provide a challenge. As we headed uphill at the speed limit, the car seemed to stop and then slowly inch towards the top. Foot to the floor, cars whizzing by, I patted the steering wheel, Come on, Yolanda, you can do it! She's the little engine who simply could not. While I could not bring myself to give her back because of something as silly as the cup holders being in front of the vents (who DOES that? how can the cup holders be directly in front of the vents?), I told Eddie, I think we found a reason to give her back and not buy her out. He concurred, offering, Yeah, how are we supposed to travel when the car won't go uphill? Because, you know, we have a lot of mountain driving in our future.

It's decided. Now that I have some time and it's not a rush to get rid of an almost non-functioning car, I can research cars and buy something without leasing it first to see how it goes.

As soon as that decision became firm, I drove to work through a road work zone with debris coming at me from every angle. When I got back in my car at the end of the day, I saw a glimmering from my windshield as I sat behind the wheel. I leaned in. It was. A. Crack. A small inch-long crack.

Now we all know how I react when car problems arise, so my reaction should not be surprising: I gasped so hard that I almost passed out in my seat. What might be surprising is that I did not automatically think my car was going to explode as is the common outcome of any light coming on. Instead, I thought my windshield was going to cave in on me as soon as I turned the key.

I am happy to report that it did not cave in on me. It did not spider-web out as I drove home. It simply remained an inch-long crack that reflected light. Quite pretty. Quite mesmerizing, which could cause an accident. Also accident-causing? My panic that it would grow and the windshield would come in on me with every exit on the highway.

I told Eddie about the crack as soon as I got home. I figured we would have to pay for it to be repaired. We went onto the Safelite website because it's the only company I know that deals in windshields. That's probably because it's the only glass company with a jingle. Go ahead and sing it. You know it. Now you can't stop singing it, can you? Heh heh.



The website has a place that you can put your insurance information down and they contact the insurance for you. Unless you have Geico. Then you have to go to Geico directly. I went onto that website. I typed in what happened. They scheduled an appointment with Safelite for me for the next day.

How's that for service?

By this time, the crack had grown to double its size. However, it was still around the length of a dollar bill. As I drove to yoga that night, I kept holding up a dollar bill against the glass at every red light. The drivers in front of me could have thought I was somehow propositioning them, but I didn't care. All I cared about was measuring the crack to ensure that it was still about the length of a dollar bill. At that length, it's reparable. I'm not sure what I would've done if it had grown past that length since measuring it obsessively does not impede it from growing.

The next day, I waited for Safelite. They emailed me a picture of the guy who was going to repair my windshield. He arrived after calling me to tell me he was fifteen minutes away. When he called, the caller ID said SAFELITE unlike so many other companies that have their workers use random cell numbers when they call.

I met him outside. We walked to my car. As we approached, he could see the crack from the inside since we were coming up behind it. Before we got to the front, he was like, nope, no good.

No good is not good!

He called the company and told them it had to be replaced. Then he handed me his cellphone: They want to talk to you.

They rescheduled the appointment right then and there. The woman wanted to get me in as soon as possible, but I didn't want to drive to the shop (because my car would obviously explode if I did that), so we rescheduled it for the next Friday.

The crack grew. The sunlight lashed through bright and harsh, but still beautiful. The crack stopped growing. Mid-week, I forgot that it was a hazard.

Friday came. Safelite called around 8:30. One man came to do the job. I asked, It's just you? He said, Yes, just me. I said, okay then. We walked around my car looking for dings and dents to ensure that I knew they were there. Really, all that walk accomplished was making me feel ashamed about how dirty my car was. I told him that I'd wanted to get it washed but didn't want to take it in with a crack in the windshield. He told me I couldn't get it washed for another three days with the new windshield in. Well, at least the windshield would be clean. Then I asked about my registration and inspection stickers. He said, We transfer them over.

Anyone who has had to remove and replace a registration sticker knows that it's not a simple transfer. It involves scraping with a razor and spraying to get the adhesive off. Maybe some cursing, too. Sometimes blood. However, he answered simply without hesitation, so I believed him and responded, Oh okay great magic.

He said he'd be an hour. I said I'd be upstairs. Of course, I went directly to the window from inside the house. In less than two minutes, my car had no windshield. Completely open in the front. Talk about mesmerizing.

In less than an hour--maybe 40 minutes--I had a new windshield AND he'd vacuumed out the front seats and dash AND he'd cleaned ALL the windows. He joked that at least my glass was clean when I yet again lamented, all ashamed, Now my windshield is the cleanest part.

He told me I could drive it in an hour, emailed me my receipt, and told me to call him on the cell if anything went wrong for the rest of the day.

The only thing that was unsettling was driving with that new windshield. It's invisible. So clean. Not even a scratch from the wipers. I drove half ducking behind the wheel. Safety first!

It's Not Paradise By The Dashboard Lights

Every time something weird happens with my car, I think it's going to explode.  Really.  When the light came on that indicates low tire pressure, I immediately thought my car was going to blow up.  The only solace came from the fact that the light that indicates low tire pressure looks like a butt.  I'm serious.  Here, it looks like this:

(!)

Come on.  Tell me that doesn't look like a butt.

Anyway, on a high from winning a bike, I galloped down the stairs and jumped in my car to head to line dancing.  When I turned on the car, the dash lit up as it always does.  Then two lights remained on.

The car was obviously about to burst into flames.

Then I recognized that one of the lights looks exactly like a button that's right next to the gear shift.  It's the tire slipping button (also known as traction).  I thought, oh silly me I must have pressed it by accident.  So I pressed the button.  Nothing happened.  I pressed it again.  The light was still on.

Now I was sure--the car was going to explode.

Plus the other light was still on.  I called Eddie to come downstairs to look at the lights.  As he did so, I looked up both lights.  The first was indeed the tire slippage one.  The second one was under the heading Bring Your Car In For An Inspection Because... and the reason listed next to the symbol was Possible Electrical System Malfunction.  The manual doesn't have a translate column, but it should because that obviously translates to Your Car Is Going To Blow To Bits In Five Minutes.

I wound up taking Eddie's car and made a plan to take my car into the shop before work the next day.  On the way to dancing, S tried to console me by pointing out I had a brand new bike that I could ride while my car was in the shop.  I could also sell the bike and pay for the car repairs.  The bill would surely be enormous since putting back together an exploded car is no easy task.

After a round of idiocy with the folks over at the Toyota dealership (when asked if there would be a charge to bring it in since it's a lease, the girl answered, I don't know, and then expected that to be a good answer), Eddie and I took it to our good friend, Roland.  We actually don't know him well at all, but he's inspected both our cars and did the oil changes and he's so honest that when Eddie didn't have small bills and wanted to pay with a credit card, Roland was like, Naw you can just bring me the cash tomorrow since it's only ten bucks.  (later on, when I called to tell him I'd pay with a credit card over the phone since the shop was closing before I was leaving work, he was like, or you can pick up your car later and just pay me tomorrow--whatever you want sweetheart--and he said sweetheart in a genuine kind of way, not in a condescending kind of way, which makes me really appreciate him).

Panicked ensued on my part for the duration of the morning since I was sure Roland would be injured when the car blew to pieces.  Eddie eased my panic when he dropped me off at work, telling me Roland would fix it.  Then my mind was completely at peace when Eddie called at lunch and not only was Roland alive, but he'd found what was wrong with my car (which had not exploded, btw).

He said that Roland was incredibly apologetic actually and didn't want to charge us for such a silly thing but he had to charge us since he'd run a diagnostic on the machine.  What was wrong?  The code on the machine told Roland to check the gas tank cap.  So Roland checked it.  He then twisted it to make it tighter.  Then my car was fixed.

Yeah, that's right.  The cap for the gas tank was loose.

The best part of the day was reading my bill for the services.  Under recommendations, it read: Fully tighten gas cap after fueling up.  It implied, tighten the gas cap, you idiot.

Technically, my car could have exploded.  A loose cap could lead to a leak that could cause a fire that could cause an explosion.  Technically.

So I tell you that story not just to show my neurotics about dashboard indicator lights, but also to tell you this one:

The next day, my dad asked me what the problem was.  I told him about the gas cap.  He said I should take it to places that have more reliable people who close the cap right.  I just nodded in agreement.  When my dad saw Eddie later on and told Eddie the same thing, Eddie readily raised his own hand and said, I'm the guy who filled up the tank.   (See? see how I wasn't the one who ratted him out?)

So my dad puts his hands in Eddie's face and gives him one of those index finger shame shame shame movements and then tells him that he owes me money for getting the car fixed.  Ha!I think we're even now anyway.

Thirsty?: A Story of Traffic

We're not sure what started it.  We think it was a merging issue.  The Belt has construction and narrow lanes and not many drivers follow the speed limit nor do they heed warnings or abide by common courtesy.  All this makes for an entertaining if not thrilling ride from Long Island to Brooklyn, thrilling in the sense of "I'm going to die," of course.

Eddie and I are in his Cruz, jamming to some Hot 97, short-sleeved shirts on, sun setting, stopping and going with the stuttering flow of cars and trucks and motorcycles.  We're in a good groove of dropping off invoices together so we can spend time together on our very opposite schedules.  Car time is our time.  His car smells like bread.  It's better than motor oil.

From the right, we see a silver-white sporty coup careening through the lanes, from right lane to middle to left and then back to middle.  Then from the right, we see a large tractor-trailer truck thing also veering over into the right lane from the ramp and then into the middle and then back to the right.

And then, from this tiny car low to the ground, from the driver's side across through the passenger's side window, we see a Poland Spring bottle fly out and up.  Not only does the bottle hit the truck, it hits the driver of the truck square on the forearm that is resting on the ledge of the open window.  It's not one of those small

20 oz bottles.  It's that large-drink-your-day's-worth-of-water-from-one-bottle sized bottle.  It hit him hard enough to bounce off and arc back over the middle lane and back towards the left lane, the bottle eventually resting for a second before being crushed by oncoming tires.

It's a physics miracle.

The truck driver?  Not happy about this turn of events.  The car driver had been yelling something as he threw the bottle--one-handed, I might add.  The truck driver had been yelling back.  He stopped mid-yell as the bottle hit him and he punched at it to get it away. 

The truck driver begins yelling more.  The car driver hears none of it because he's now weaving in and out of traffic, trying to get wherever he needs to get without being slowed down by silly things like laws and the threat of danger.

Not to be treated in such a manner, the truck driver decides that his truck is not a truck but is also a tiny sporty coup.  In this delusion, he continues waving his arm out his open window and yelling whatever it is he's been yelling as he ignores the lines in the road and acts as if the Belt Parkway is now one very wide lane meant for him only.  He starts weaving in and out of cars, chasing down the guy in the sports coup.

The truck--by another miracle--holds its own and almost catches up to the car. 

Eddie and I in our Cruz have turned our attention away from our late-day groove towards a play by play of our live and up-close version of Cannonball Run: The Water Bottle Debacle. We lose sight of the car and the truck around a curve, but then I see the truck ahead of us, getting off at our exit. 

Eddie speeds up to the exit to follow the truck, but the light at the end of the street is green and the truck is long gone.  We don't know the fate of the car, but I'm guessing it either made it to the Verrazano before the truck could catch it or it got off at our exit before the truck and the truck is still hunting him down, perhaps to thank him for the water. Maybe that's what he'd been yelling and why he'd been chasing: manners.