The following events happened to me and my wife and daughter last Thursday evening. I know this post is long, but PLEASE read it. You will no doubt be entertained.
1. We were on our way to Ohio to stay with the in-laws and for me to attend a conference when our alternator quit. That means no lights (not even hazard lights), and it was dark and raining and we were on the Western Kentucky Parkway, where the speed limit is 65 and people go 80. Many semi’s were blowing by.
2. I had my wife and daughter get out of the car in case it got hit, which put them on the side of the road (behind the guardrail, but still), at night, in the dark, in the rain.
3. I could not get a signal on my cell phone, so I could not call road service. A man stopped and offered us a ride. Fearing we would soon be skin-suits, we nevertheless took the ride, seeing no other options (we were nearly 20 miles from the nearest town with anything open).
4. I get in touch with road service, who agrees to let us ride in the tow truck back to our car. When we get to the site, the driver tries to turn around on the median. The truck gets stuck.
5. The driver tries to get unstuck, but only manages to get further mired. He gets out, and goes to the back to try to use the towing equipment as sort of a pry-bar to get us out of the muck. Everytime he pries the vehicle, we move, DRIVERLESS, a foot closer to the road. We are terrified.
6. We hear a huge “BONG!” followed by silence. I start to wonder if the driver got hit when I suddenly hear, “F—-!” So we at least know he is alive.
7. Driver comes to the door, says to me: “Could you do me a favor?” I say yes. “Could you go check on those people?” He points to the east-bound lanes, where I see a car facing west, against the guardrail. “Did they hit something?” I ask, fearing the answer I know is coming.” “Yeah,” he says, “they hit us!”
Evidently, the driver (who had two little girls in the car with her) had tried to avoid the two equipment that was sticking out in the road behind us, had been unsuccessful in avoiding it, and had instead clipped it, which thre her into the guardrail of the west-bound lanes, which sent her careening across the median into oncoming traffic, where she miraculously did not hit anyone and came to rest, facing the wrong way, against the east-bound guardrail.
Mother and daughters were okay, thank God, just shaken.
8. We have to wait for the police to get there to take our statements, so we spend a few hours inside the truck. I ask the tow company to pay for a hotel for us, since the parts store is now closed (before all the drama, we had had plenty of time—over an hour—to get to an open establishment). The company refuses. Later, as we are on our way to Elizabethtown to get a room and drop our car at a gas station to be fixed in the morning, I ask the driver to see if the company would at least waive the fee for the extra tow miles the road service did not cover. The boss’s answer? “Negative! It’s not our fault the damned woman decided to hit us!”
9. While I go to drop the car and pay the tow charge, my wife and daughter check into the Budget Hotel (note: no matter how tired, desperate, or destitute you are, never ever in a million years stay at this hotel). The hotel demands pre-payment, and my wife, tired, frustrated and not a haggler by nature, does not have the heart to protest when the clerk overcharges her $20-worth.
10. I return to the hotel (which has strange people roaming the parking lot, trash surrounding the exterior, and a sign out front reading “Pets Welcome”), knock on our room’s door, and my wife says from inside, “Take a deep breath before you come in!”
And boy was she right: I don’t know which smell was stronger in the room: cat urine, or dried blood and semen. It was SO nasty. There were crumbs and pubic hairs in the bed, the bathroom was filthy, the door looked like it would pop open if a drunk came along and leaned on it, and the Styrofoam drinking cups were used. Also, as I was about to drift off to sleep, the window above the bed started leaking—no, streaming—onto the bed.
We slept with our clothes on and left as soon as possible.
11. In the morning, I paid $235 for an alternator and 20 minutes of labor. I walked funny as I left the shop.
The moral of this story? I have no idea. But oh what a night!