Man, I have no idea what to make for dinner tonight. I just passed Ralphs--maybe I should have stopped--no, shopping is horrible with all the kids and Brynn hasn't had her second nap yet, plus I really do have to get gas. Can't put it off any more. The light's been on for days now. Good thing I can walk to the basic places I need to get to. Oh, look, a AAA truck helping someone.
Oh, no! Why isn't my gas pedal doing anything? I take my foot off the gas and try again. Nothing. Car still slowing down. Where can I pull over? Please, please, please, let me make it over to the curb--there's a spot! I pull in as close as I can but my tail is sticking out slightly. But I can't move. I try to start the car again. The engine tries valiantly to turn over, but can't. We are stuck. I can see two gas stations from where I sit. But there is none in my tank. I turn my hazards on, tell the kids to stay put, and get out of the car. Maybe there are some ideas out there.
I don't know what I'm looking for, but I stand outside for a minute before it even occurs to me to call my husband. He suggests calling a neighbor and asking her to grab our gas can from the shed and bringing it to me. Sounds reasonable. Good job thinking straight, honey!
Parking Enforcement pulls up behind me. "Excuse me, ma'am, is everything all right?"
"I just ran out of gas."
"Are you a triple-A member?"
"No."
"Does your insurance have roadside assistance?"
"I'm not sure--maybe?"
"Do you have full coverage?"
"I think so."
"Then you're probably fine."
"Okay, thanks."
He walks away, I assume to get back into his car and drive off, but instead he comes back and tells me he's put a traffic cone behind me so I won't get clipped by people coming around the bend. He makes sure I have assistance on the way, and tells me what to do with the cone when help arrives.
I call a friend, she doesn't pick up, so I go to the next person I can think of and she says, "Sure, no problem! We'll be there as soon as we can."
Inside the car, only my oldest is aware of the fact that we really can't move. He starts asking for food and entertainment. I tell him, "good thing we brought your homework to do!" So this is why I thought to tell him to bring his homework! The eye doctor wasn't going to take long, and there really isn't that much traffic this direction this early in the afternoon. Same with the sleeve of Ritz I threw in my purse on the way out. Did I expect us to be camping out for two hours at the eye doctor for a glasses adjustment?
I can't believe the kids are being so good in such a situation. They are all happily (and even relatively quietly) entertained as we sit in our dead car: Max just happened to find a little book in his area back there (which has probably been in the car since April) with letters to trace, and the Tails book we had left at the church last Tuesday is still in the car, so Reed has something to look at as well. Dean is entertaining Brynn between math problems, and then gives up his pencil so Max can practice his letters. I have the best kids in the world! I pull out the crackers and they all partake gladly. Less than three minutes later, the sleeve of crackers has been consumed. On to the gummy worms.
My Angel Friend arrives--she is pregnant, and has 7-year-old twin girls and a 3-year-old little boy in her 5-seater--with my gas can, and we figure out how to get the gas from the can to my tank. She follows me to the front of the car so she can witness the triumphant starting of the car. But now, even less happens when I turn the key. Now it's just flickering of the dash lights--the engine doesn't even try to turn over. Oh no. What does that mean? Should I have thought to turn off the music quicker? How long was I supposed to leave my hazards going? Did I kill something else in the car along with having no gas? My friend suggests that maybe the level of gas is still too low, and offers to go refill my gas can. I tell my friend to go get more gas, and when she gets back, I tell my kids to pray for the car as I'm getting out to open the gas cap. "Pray that there's nothing seriously wrong with the car."
Meanwhile, my husband is still at work sending me instructions (via IM, because his phone is dead!) for priming the fuel pump by turning the key to ON, then turning it off, then on again, and repeat until it starts. Only it's still just flickers--no engine activity at all. I keep this up, thinking maybe next time, maybe next time.
A man walks by as I'm attempting to prime my fuel pump and says, "Sounds like your starter."
"What does that mean?"
"Do you have cables?"
"Yeah I have cables...somewhere"
My Angel Friend has cables, and retrieves them as the man goes to get his truck so he can jumpstart my engine, while I fumble around my trunk and come up empty. A pickup that's one step down from a semi pulls up next to me, and the man, now sporting a reflective vest, hops out and tells me to pop my hood.
This is just like when I had a horribly dangerous flat right outside of Kingman. Man in Reflective Vest put my spare on and sent me on my way to get a new tire--"that tire will explode if you get it hot again"--in town. Other Concerned Citizen at the Gas Station happened to know exactly what shop sells the same tires as the ones on my vehicle.
Current Man in Reflective Vest is clamping the cables onto my battery, which sparks! Like, a lot. I try to start the car. Flickers. I try again. Flickers.
"Yeah, that doesn't look good. You see those sparks? You probably have a short somewhere. Wires heated up and caused a short. Battery shouldn't spark like that."
"So, what happens now?"
"You have triple-A?"
"No."
"You have a husband?"
"Yes."
"Well, I would call him. Do you have any food? I have a little fruit in my truck." He disappears into his truck and comes out with a banana, a plum, an apple, and two granola bars. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to drink. But take these for the kids. Good luck." He gives me a kind look as I thank him profusely for his help. He gives the cables back to Angel Friend, and drives off.
By now it's almost five. Time to call a tow truck. I am officially out of my depth, scared that it's something really serious. My husband has informed me that we do not have roadside assistance provided by our insurance company, so no use calling them. Then I think, I should just call the service people at Honda. They'll help me, surely. So I call and ask for the Service Department. Nobody answers--leave a message and they'll call you back tomorrow. But maybe they do roadside assistance? Worth a shot. I call Honda again and get the same girl asking to direct my call. "Roadside assistance?"
"I'll transfer you. Please hold."
Sweet!
Menu options? What? If I am stranded with four children on a busy street at rush hour, please press 1?
Finally a person answers, and I am able to give my location and situation, and she tells me I will get a text soon to let me know when help would be there. Two minutes later I receive a text. ETA: 6:46 pm.
Now Angel Friend's children are wandering the sidewalk and playing with gravel, reminding their mother that they have 10 minutes on the meter. She has whatever snacks from her car out, and is feeding my children through the window. I join in the feeding with Reflective Vest's granola bars. My husband has just told me he's leaving work to come get the kids, after I tell him the ETA is yet an hour and a quarter from now. Angel Friend asks me if I'll be okay if she leaves now--she has to get gas :) and go start dinner. I tell her she's my favorite person and send her on her way. And thank you, and can I be your slave for the rest of my life? Please?
About 15 minutes later, Honda Roadside calls for my exact location and says it'll be 50 minutes. I feel even more justified sending the kids home with their dad, who arrives about 10 minutes, one poopy diaper and three pee-ers on the bush later, on his white horse. We move Brynn's carseat to his car. I apologize for not filling up when the light first came on, like a sensible person, and he apologizes for not filling up my car on Saturday when he drove it, especially since I had filled his car on Saturday when I drove it. He looks conflicted about leaving me alone on the side of the road with a car that won't start, but I convince him I'll be fine and the kids need to get home. I even try to hand him Reflective Vest's fruit, but he makes me keep it--who knows how long it'll be if the tow truck had to take the freeway? It's after 6 now.
I settle into my seat, deciding whether to do a wordsearch or UnblockMe on my phone when I notice a tow truck pulling up in front of me! Ooooh, he said fif-TEEN minutes, not 50! I should have clarified.
Tow Truck seems pretty confident that I just need a jump and some gas and I'll be on my way. I am skeptical after the sparks, but he says something about having a more powerful truck. Must be a guy thing. He gets some serious-looking cables out of a compartment on the outside of his truck and has to adjust how far he is from me to get enough slack to hook onto my battery. This takes a while, and I keep wondering if I'm supposed to be doing anything besides watching him go back and forth from the cables to the steering wheel. After what feels like forever, he tells me to give it a try.
I turn the key.
Flickers.
Again.
Flickers.
Tow Truck says to give it a couple minutes. He goes back to his steering wheel and revs his engine for a while, then comes back and tells me to try again.
I turn the key, this time totally convinced that there is something seriously wrong with my van.
That's it? I just needed a proper jump?
I'm almost a little bit disappointed that I don't have to be towed two blocks to the gas station, and then over to the dealership, whose service department would almost certainly be closed by the time we got there, and then be without a car for who knows how long. And then, the whole afternoon sort of replays in my head as we head to the gas station, literally 90 seconds from where I've been parked for two hours, and I'm awestruck that a whole team of angels assembled--again--to teach me a) pay attention when your car is trying to tell you something! and b) God is here, and available, and willing, and shouting His love for you through every person who came to your aid, and through every nuance of circumstance that kept you and the kids safe and happy through this whole ordeal.
So what could have been the Worst Day Ever really wasn't. The more details I remember, the stronger the case for the kind of gratitude that brings me to my knees.
