Halfway to Jupiter

Ed note – This is a true story from April 1, 2009, written sometime the following year. It’s Cardinals related, so 1 or 2 of you might not hate it.


It was for April Fool’s Day that my lovely girlfriend surprised me with the perfect gift: Tickets to the final spring training game of the year for the St. Louis Cardinals. This may not mean much to you, but it means a heck of a lot to me. The Cardinals normally play in St. Louis, which is far enough from Orlando, and dangerous enough as it is, that I can really only justify going whenever I need to make a major crack deal. But the Cardinals play spring training games in Jupiter, Florida. Jupiter is different. Jupiter is a beautiful coastal town whose residents don’t keep up with the annual murder count. Jupiter is littered with old people who are very unlikely to cause me trouble, in as much I could quickly grab away their cane and beat them senseless. Also, since they are old and feeble minded, it is far easier to screw them blind in a major crack deal.


Even with such obvious benefits I had never actually been able to visit Jupiter. The reason I’ve never been to Jupiter is because my car, God bless her, could never make the 2 hour voyage. Being towed behind a hamster in a plastic ball would not only be a far more reliable way of getting to Jupiter, it was also contain a much greater amount of horsepower. Therefore every spring, unless I could find some idiot to take me, I was completely stuck.


This year I found my idiot: My girlfriend.


Thus we got in her much better, much newer car, and started our way down to Jupiter for a fun day in the sun. We drove. We talked. We laughed. We were easily going to be on time for the game. It started at 1:00, but of course we planned on getting there very early. That’s when the ballplayers sign autographs, and after all I am an 8 year old at heart. I also have no actual soul, so I don’t mind smashing and crushing actual 8 year olds to get myself in the most opportune position for a chance at a signature.


Of course, as you may have guessed, this didn’t happen. Oh the drive was going fine. We were speeding along at a good pace, our only stop was at a gas station to fill up. We grabbed brochures while we were at it. After all, we were arriving in Jupiter early enough that maybe there were sights we wanted to see. Maybe there was, I don’t know, some old person scooter parade. (If you don’t think these things exist, they do, and my Grandparents take them very seriously.)


When we started back down the road I could soon hear a faint clicking sound. Faint enough that I became concerned that my precious music had a skip in it. But when I muted the music, the clicking remained. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t necessarily terrible; after all, my car, on a good day, sounds like a cow being slowly crushed in a trash compacter. Still, the clicking was concerning. The clicking got progressively louder, and after a minute or so got to the point where I felt I had to pull the car over. We had been driving the car for an hour and a half, and, as I know nothing about fixing cars I declared that it just needed a little rest. So I pulled the car over and let it sit for a minute, and I asked my girlfriend, I mean it was her car, if we should go on. She said yes. She had better have said yes, as I was going to this baseball game no matter what, and asking was merely a polite formality.


I started the car again, and let the car slowly start getting up to speed, and as the car was hitting 45 miles per hour, and I was feeling pretty good, the clicking became extremely loud and the car suddenly shut off. I don’t know if you have ever driven a car that just shuts off on you, but I can tell you it’s as easy to drive as a cloud. I mean this in the literal “you can’t drive a cloud” sense. The power steering turns off and you are essentially screwed at having the car do anything you want. It would be easier to drive a particularly stubborn Easter Island head.


I was upset; I admit. But I wasn’t down for the count. Luckily we left very early, and I was sure this wasn’t a huge deal. I knew that if we could just get this car fixed then we could be on the road again and make the start of the game easily. Besides, there was good news. I admit to you now something I’ve never told another soul. I mean, to this day I have a tremendous amount of guilt for feeling this, but I remember distinctly thinking, “Thank God it’s not my car.” I mean my car sucks, but then so does my paycheck, and the most expensive device I could afford to replace my car would be something with the brand name “Hot Wheels.”


Anyway there we were, stuck on the side of the road calling AAA to tow us. It was difficult to explain to them exactly where we were because, well, we didn’t know where we were except to say “An hour and a half from Orlando, but not Jupiter.” The only thing we could see around us, besides litter, was a mile marker 58 sign. This is pretty much how we expressed ourselves. We are by mile marker 58. 5-8. Mile marker 58. There is nothing around us except this one sign, so please please please send someone to mile marker 58. The only reason we might not be at exit 58 is if the alligators get to us first, and even then help would be appreciated.


There was good news. The woman looked up a towing company and it was less than 5 miles from us, which meant, in AAA terms, that the towing was free. (I should mention that this came after several requests from the woman about where we WANTED the car towed even though we kept telling her that our total previous experience around here was absolutely zero. Apparently even though we had never visited mile marker 58 previously, she expected us to be experts on local mechanics, their competitors, and who might specialize in our specific car needs. Needless to say the sum amount of opinion we had as to who would get our business would be the company that, through pure genius, innovation, and excellent business practices, happened to be the 1st place off the highway.) Lucky for us they would be there in 20 minutes, which was basically instantly in “stranded-on-the-side-of-the-road time.” Perfect. On the road again soon. Sure, fixing the car will cost money, but that’s the way life goes, and well, as I thought to myself, “Thank God it’s not my car.”


20 minutes came and left, and so did 20 more. I spent the time consoling my girlfriend, who was hysterical. I wasn’t hysterical. I’m way too mature for that. I knew AAA would get us soon. I knew the car would be ok. And even if it wasn’t, hey, it wasn’t MY car. It’s not like I, personally, had anything to worry about.


Time kept marching on, and even I had to admit that perhaps it was time to contact AAA. However, just before I could make the call, our knight in shining armor pulled up. Knight is the wrong word. An actual knight would be worthless to us. He wasn’t a strapping young armored hero on horseback. He was an old man in a highway servicing truck. Our greatest hopes and dreams had been answered.


“I can’t tow you,” he explained, “Yesterday I could have, I woulda done it for free, but our contract expired and now a different company has this entire stretch of highway. It’s bull I tell ya, they can’t service this entire road, they just want money. You break down now, you can be stranded for hours and they won’t even be able to get to ya. Bad luck for you guys. Yesterday I’d be towing you right now. It was our pleasure. Look though, I can look at it for you and see if I can help out.”


You see, it was April 1st, which was the start of the new fiscal quarter, and all sorts of new contracts went into effect. This was a good thing for us. While yesterday he would have towed us, today he was going to fix the car for free. As in, we would pay no money. I can afford free, barely, but I can pull it off. He was our own guardian angel.


He checked the car and discovered that low and behold, the car had no oil in it. A few weeks before my girlfriend had gotten her oil changed at Walmart and maybe her car had a slow leak, or maybe the fine folks at Walmart forgot that when you take oil out, you have to actually put more oil in to meet the expectations of “changing” the oil. I don’t know. The point is the car was completely empty. Turns out this wasn’t a great thing for a car. They need oil to work. Sort of like a hooker. The good news is our angel happened to have 2 bottles of oil on him and put them straight away in the car. This was free of course. You aren’t charged by angels. Put a little oil in, car works again, Jupiter here we come!


“Now don’t start it yet, give it a couple of minutes to get all the way in there.” This guy was smart! This guy was our savior! “Go ahead and try it.” I turned the key, and only clicking came out. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” The man went off to get his tools. Tools. I mean he is going to WORK on the car right here on the side of the road. For free even! His company can’t even help me because some other company has taken over. Nicest man ever! This guy wasn’t just an angel, he was like some sort of angel-super hunk-old man hybrid. He was my hero.


He grabbed a wrench. Not just any wrench, this was clearly a car fixing wrench. Properly used, no car was a match for a wrench of this size. I didn’t and don’t know what parts of a car you can fix with a wrench, but at this point I am willing to be he can fix ANY car part with a wrench. He can probably fix any car part with his hands, but he uses tools because he doesn’t want to show off. This is a man’s man. The kind I could never be.


He told me to try the car again, and as it predictably continued to click, he went to work showcasing the skills that made him a master of his trade.




He was beating the engine with the wrench. I mean beating it. Like the engine didn’t come home on time and he needed to teach the engine a lesson even though it hurt him more than it hurt the engine. Now, I don’t know anything about cars, but I figure, if cars were that easy to fix, we wouldn’t need mechanics. But then again, since I know nothing, and we were desperate, I just kept listening to him again when he asked me to try starting it once more.






And again.






At that point apparently, he had tried every trick in the book and gave up. It was time for him to move on and to go off down the highway where he could not save someone else. He left us. We were alone again. We were stranded on the side of the road. Still no AAA. It had been well over an hour. The game was close to beginning. We called AAA back.


“Oh mile marker 58?” The lady said, “You told me 38! We went out there and when you weren’t there we figured you had gotten it fixed!”


I don’t know if any statement has ever made me angrier. I hope you never have to know this, but let me tell you that if you are ever stranded on the side of the road, and you need to tell someone where you are, and there is one mile marker sign around you, you do not misread it. You consult with people around you. “That’s a 58 right? Like one after 57? I mean this is important, and if there is a chance this is not a 58 then I need to know it, because there is a woman on the other end, and I had better be darn sure I tell her the right mile marker number, because I would like to not be stranded.” We told her 58. There is no way we couldn’t have told her 58. Had the question been tell me any number or word you can see from your location, the only answer we would have had was “58.” So instead of saying that she may have misheard us, when she told us that WE said we were at 38, as though this was some small detail we might reasonably mess up from lack of concentration, I became a bit angry.


Another half an hour goes by and now I’ve lost control and am being consoled. Sure, this wasn’t my car, but it was my game, and I was going to miss it. I could barely even illicit the slightest bit of happiness when the tow truck finally showed up. Still, I put on my game face just in case this guy could help us get out of here.


“I’m so glad you’re here! You see, we heard a clicking sound and…”


“I’m just here to tow the car,”




We piled into his cab where we discovered that he had no use for seat belts, or blinkers, or red lights, or any number of traffic laws. Perhaps we looked a little concerned because he told us, “Don’t worry,v  we hit anything, we’ll win.” He patted the dashboard of his behemoth truck and smiled like a man who had experience with this.


It took him roughly 3 seconds to ascertain the fact that we weren’t around there, and when he found out we were from Orlando, he called us “city folk” and changed the radio station “just for us” from very loud country to very loud hip-hop. Like all of us Orlando city-folk listen to.


He took us to the closest shop which happened to be in a little town called Fort Pierce. Fort Pierce, as we would learn, is the worst town in the world.


We were dropped off at a small shop where we were told that someone would be able to get to the car in about 20 minutes. First though, they had something they all had to attend to.


So we sat in a waiting room that had a small and uncomfortable couch and a T.V. that picked up only a scrambled religious channel without any sound. There was a VCR, but no tapes around, and several exposed wires coming out of the wall which I imagine might have had something to do with a previous working version of a once proud television. We did have plenty to entertain us though. The walls were filled with plaques of various things this place had sponsored. They were all pig competitions. The pictures were all the same style. There was a group of extremely proud people standing behind a pig who was clearly only in the picture because there was a bowl of food, and it would say thing like, “98 4H Porkers Convention winners: The Hog Huggers.” The “Hog Huggers” placed nearly every year. They appeared to be the pride of Fort Pierce.


There was plenty to listen to as well. The waiting room featured a window to the secretary’s desk that contained a sliding piece of glass that apparently the employees felt was sound proof. It wasn’t, and thus my girlfriend and I had to listen to that days ongoing saga, which was that the toilet was clogged. There was much speculation about who did it, and how it was to be fixed and it went on and on. This was not meant as a funny conversation. This was all done with great concern, and every time someone tried to flush the toilet a great drama erupted about the current status that resulted of said flush. I’m not kidding when I say that there was plenty of conversation from those who had seen the inside of the mighty toilet bowl, and relayed their observations to the rest of the room.


There came a point when we couldn’t take it anymore and we knocked on the glass to find out any updates we might have on the car. That’s when we got the news.


“I’m sorry. There is nobody to work on your car. You see, there has been a wreck on DEAD MAN’S CURVE.”


I realize this sounds like it was from a horror movie. In a way it was a horror movie. There was a wreck on DEAD MAN’S CURVE. We’d never been to this town. They knew we’d never been to this town. Yet they spoke of DEAD MAN’S CURVE like surely the legend of this curve was known far and wide.


If for some reason you don’t believe me, please go here…



That is the news article from the accident entitled “Crash On ‘Dead Man’s Curve’ Kills 3, Injures One.”


Apparently what happened is that a group of people were going to the beach and a guy, with his 4 year old in the car, decided that getting to the beach in a timely manner was more important than following certain out-of-date and basically useless driving rules such as what side of the road you were supposed to be on. He decided to ignore this particular traffic law whilst going around a curve nicknamed for its ability to kill people, and did so while vastly exceeding the speed limit. Strangely enough, he hit another vehicle head on killing both people in the car including himself. Only his 4 year old son lived on, now to grow up without a father. This kind of idiocy cannot be fully described by the English language. There is a certain amount of selfishness that goes with a guy willing to risk his life, his son’s life, and strangers’ lives, not to mention all of the people affected by such a tragedy, just to arrive somewhere a little bit faster. I mean, I bet this guy didn’t even THINK of the possibility that killing several people and orphaning his child would end up making me completely miss my baseball game. I was pissed off.


Seeing now that we would be here a while we asked the lady if there was anywhere good nearby we could eat. She mentioned that there was a bar-be-que place about a half mile away. Now, I believe this really describes the sort of people that are in this town. I asked about the sub sandwich place I had seen about a block away and neither she, nor anyone who worked there had the faintest clue that such a place existed. You could see the place FROM the store, but all these people knew was that somewhere off in the distance, you could get bar-be-que.


We decided to go for the subs. A few minutes later we arrived at the store to find out, that like many restaurants in the late 80’s, this place did not accept check cards. It just so happens that we had no cash on us. It looked like we were going to eat some bar-be-que.


Walking we went. We dodged road kill, and not just once. We walked past thrift stores and live chickens. We even passed, and this is true, a barbed wire fence surrounding field of mud. Apparently in Fort Pierce, a field of mud is a highly valued commodity. You’ve got to protect it.


We came across the restaurant which features, as a logo, 3 happy dancing pigs. There was a sign on the door that said “No Shoes, No Shirt, No service.” Most importantly, written in the margins in permanent marker were the words, “pants too.” Lucky for us, we still qualified for entry.


The restaurant was pretty standard in what you might expect. The foods were different variations of dead animals smothered in barbeque sauce. The menu was a laminated piece of paper. The tables around us were filled with people who obviously used this place as their hang out. But, the bathrooms, they were the highlight. The bathrooms were, well, themed. First of all while these bathrooms may have belonged to the restaurant they were not technically in the building. You had to walk outside and down a skinny alleyway to access them. Second of all, the stalls had giant swinging saloon doors to really give you that bar feeling. The only problem was that these doors in no way met in the middle. There was about a 4 inch gap. When someone walked into the bathroom and you were using the stall you could, very conveniently, look them in the eye, and inform them that the stall was taken.


After our meal, which spoiler, wasn’t good, we returned to rhe auto body shop. The boss was now there, and for whatever reason he had us stand outside as we watched the cars from DEAD MAN’S CURVE drive by. They were in shambles. I don’t know why we did this. Maybe it was to show us how lucky we were, but I can say at that point I 1) envied them for being dead and 2) envied them even more for having reliable transportation to LEAVE Fort Pierce.


Finally the mechanics returned and looked at the car for maybe (not an exaggeration) 30 seconds before telling us that because of the lack of oil the pistons had fused to the engine and the car could never be driven again. They were very concerned about several dents they saw on the inside of the car and I had to explain to them about how an old man with a wrench had repeatedly beaten the engine in hopes of having it fix the car. They explained in no uncertain terms how stupid this was, and how that sort of thing could crack various car parts and your car would never work again. My girlfriend was very emotional. She had a non-fun conversation in the rain (oh yeah it was now raining) with her father. In the meantime I was desperately texting people to try to get someone to drive out here and get us.


One of the people I texted was my friend Roy. When I told him we were stranded his response was a heartfelt “Yeah right.”


O.K. This may require a little explanation.


Long story short in the weeks leading up to April Fool’s Day two years prior, quite a few people had been fired from my job. For whatever reason I felt that it would be a funny idea to text 10 people and inform them that I too had been fired – as a really clever April Fool’s joke. Roy was one of those people. Well Roy, as a good friend, decided to go to all of our bosses and their boss as well, and tell them individually how awful they were at everything in life in terms that I can’t say in this blog, except to say as one example, one heavily used word rhymed with “koosh.”


Quickly my bosses got me on the phone to prove to Roy I wasn’t fired, but unfortunately it was too late. Roy had quit and had said too many koosh-like words to get his job back. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.


“Yeah Roy, it was a joke.”

“Oh man, that’s not very funny.”

“Someday you’ll find this funny.”


“Probably not today. Umm, sorry”


Basically when Roy said “yeah right” I could hardly blame him. Still we were stuck and I kept on texting. I finally got a reply from a person, my roommate Luis. His reply was “Yeah, right.”


O.K. This may require a little explanation.


Leading up to April Fool’s day the year before we had been having a LOT of trouble with our water company. A broken pipe outside of our building pumped out massive amounts of water every day and no one seemed to care anything about it. The water usage was blamed on the people in my building and our water bill went from around 25 a month, to several hundred dollars. Needless to say we didn’t pay the bill and a huge fight ensued and I warned my roommates that our water might be turned off. Well on April Fool’s Day, as a clever joke, I turned off all of the water in the house. Luis, unbeknownst to me, had a job interview the next day. He needed to go to bed early but the stress of not being able to shower, and indefinitely not having water, was getting to him. At one point during the night he came out to get a cup of ice from the freezer. The purpose, he told me, was to let the cup of ice melt overnight so that he could have water to brush his teeth.


That’s when I decided to tell him it was all a joke. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.



“I’m sorry man, I had no idea it was just an April Fools joke.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I guess that’s funny.” Silence. No laughter.

“Gosh, um, I’m really sorry about this. I’ll turn your water back on.”


Luis didn’t get the job.


Basically when Luis said “yeah right” I didn’t blame him. Then, as people started texting me back, all of whom had heard of my April Fools jokes the previous years, they all responded with deep concern…that I was trying to trick them. I started realizing that on April Fool’s day my sins of the past were going to make it virtually impossible for anyone to decide to come and pick us up.


Finally I got a hold of my friend Marty. Marty is a dear, dear person, and I knew that if I ever need anything Marty will do it. He is, I can say honestly, a far better person than I am. Marty said he would leave very soon. Marty had had a single alcoholic drink, and so he wanted to wait about a half an hour, but he spent that half an hour cleaning out his car and grabbing plastic bags to retrieve my girlfriend’s belongings from her car. You see, in the meantime she had sold her car to this guy for a whopping 75 dollars, or the price that it would cost this guy to tow it to the junkyard. In exchange we also promised to write this guy a great review on the Internet (We never did).


This story has gone on and on, but just to remind you here is a quick summary of the day:


  1. We left for Jupiter in a $10,000 car.
  2. We never got to Jupiter.
  3. We spent hours on the side of the road
  4. That was better than the hours we spent in Fort Pierce
  5. We had to sell the car for $75
  6. No one would pick us up
  7. My girlfriend was crying in the rain
  8. Thank God it wasn’t my car


Anyway it was night now, Marty was several hours away, and the shop was closing, so we had to leave. The manager was nice enough to say that when Marty came he would let us into the shop to get my girlfriend’s stuff. We just had to call him and he’d be there in 20 minutes. He would also drop us off at a nearby restaurant while we waited.


Well, technically he did drop us off at a restaurant and I called Marty to tell him where he could pick us up exactly.


“We are directly across the street when you get off the interstate. We are in an Arby’s/Gas Station/Porn Shop.”


“We are in an Arby’s/Gas Station/Porn Shop”

“I don’t understand”

“It’s 3 stores all in one. An Arby’s/Gas Station/Porn Shop. It’s your one stop shop if you need gasoline, a 14 inch dildo, and roast beef.”


“We will be in the Arby’s part.”



Then we sat in the Arby’s ordering tons of food both to stave of depression and also to kill time eating. We listened to the conversation of a young woman complaining to a young man that she really wants to cheat on her boyfriend, but she’s scared she’ll get caught and that he might dump her, so she’s not sure what to do. It was wonderful. We looked over the Arby’s menu. We explored all of the merchandise in the gas station. We avoided the section known only as “The Lion’s Den.” We basically sat for 2 hours.


Finally Marty was almost there and I called the guy and he agreed to meet us in 20 minutes. I stood outside the car place and waited for him to open the gate and he arrived 20 minutes later, just like he said, except plus a half an hour. We loaded up Marty’s car and went on our way.


Let me tell you that Marty’s car was like the size of one of those “Smart Cars” only smaller, and I fit as snugly in the back seat as a white rhino in a cat carrier. I was essentially folded at the waste and looking sideways. I could not see out the window. This did not matter to me. To be in a car, a WORKING car, was an amazing feeling, and the ride home was one of the best rides of my life.


We told our story and laughed, and thanked Marty over and over again for coming to get us. He saved our lived. Every mile closer to home was a huge victory. We joked and joked and joked. We told the story of the porkers, of the April ‘ Doubts (Marty revealed he also had doubted my claims), of the barbed wire protected mud, of the old man smacking the engine with a wrench, of all of the crazy things that happened to us during that very, very bad day. In fact, at one point when we were only 20 miles from home we were in a construction zone someone joked that this would be a horrible place to break down. “No, no,” I said, “Believe me this would be a great place to break down, we are actually in civilization!”


Then Marty’s car broke down.


I’m not joking. His car shut off. Just like ours did earlier. It just gave out. Marty went over a curb and pulled into a parking lot. We had broken down again. We were on the side of the road. We began to call AAA.


Look, I have a real fear you aren’t grasping what I just said. I just said Marty’s car also broke down. I just said that for the 2nd time that day a car had broken in the exact same way.


Luckily for us we broke down in a place called the “Turkey Lake Service Center Plaza.” We actually broke down in a place where they serviced cars. I mean if there is a silver lining to breaking down for the 2nd time (besides the fact that it wasn’t my car), this was it.


We walked up and found a parked police car and told the cop that we needed help. He referred us to the next parking lot over where there would be a gas station where someone could help us. I began to walk the parking lot, which was massive, and finally found this gas station and talked to the clerk.


“Please. You won’t believe me but we’ve broken down. This is the 2nd time today, and we are stranded in your parking lot over here.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you, you need to call highway patrol.”

“But I just talked to a police officer and he told me to come here, that you guys were the ones who were in chare of the service center.”

“Oh, well that was true YESTERDAY, but our contract ended today. Now this highway is serviced by a towing company located in Fort Pierce. Starting at midnight last night we no longer service cars.”


Oh. My. God.


I began a very sad walk back to the group when I came across another policeman. I told him the story and how we were just a block over, and please by God, help us. He said he would and drove off.  I continued walking forever and the cop drove back up.


“Where is the car?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how far I had walked; it’s in the parking lot on the other side of the street.”

“Oh, well I’m Highway patrol, and the next parking lot isn’t in my jurisdiction anymore. I can’t help you.”


Oh. My. God.


I ended up begging the police officer for help, and after he saw a grown man sobbing and pleading, he agreed and drove off to find the car, and I continued walking. By the time I got to the car I was in for quite a sight. The cop was looking under the hood holding a flashlight and telling Marty to try starting the car again. Marty would, which resulted in clicking, and then I heard:




“Try it again!”




Marty looked at me in desperation. “Isn’t this what happened to you?”






It won’t surprise you to know that just like my girlfriend’s car, whacking the engine with a flashlight did not help the cause. The cop, like the old man, gave up and left us stranded on the side of the road. Once again I was on my now dying phone trying to text people to please pick us up this time. If you think people didn’t believe me the first time we broke down, they flat out called me a liar the second time. I had to have Marty get on the phone and assure people that YES it was true and YES Marty was also stranded and YES we needed a ride. Finally my other roommate Justin came to get us.


Eventually, and not before accidently missing the exit we were at and driving an additional 20 miles, Justin arrived. We unloaded Marty’s car and put it in Justin’s van, which was at the time lacking any back seats. As Marty’s car got towed away, we rode home with Justin.  I was safely secured in the front seat.  My girlfriend was in the back of the van loose with all of her belongings, bouncing around like a bag of popped corn with every bump.


We arrived home and I knew that the stress wasn’t over for my girlfriend. She’d have to ride with me everywhere and go through all of the turmoil of getting a new car. I was lucky to have it be all over for me. That was my good grace. At the end of the day it was all over for me. Thank God none of this happened to my car.


I ended up driving her around for a couple of weeks before she bought a very nice and new Honda Civic which almost seemed to make the whole thing worth it. It was over. The saga was done with. We could put this entire thing behind us.


The next day, while driving my car I slammed into the back of a large pickup truck, and while it barely had any impact on the truck at all it ripped my car apart, which was now completely wrecked.


I was stranded again on the side of the road, and I called AAA again, and I rode in a tow truck again watching my poor car go to a body shop where I would have to abandon it for a week and pay $1,400 dollars just to get it halfway functional. It was completely depressing. Horrible. I was on the verge of tears the entire time.


My girlfriend came to pick me up, and we left my car behind. My car already sucked, but I knew it would never even be that good again, and to the tune of well over a thousand dollars. I couldn’t have been more upset with the situation. And as we drove away, in her brand new car, she turned to me and said in all sincerity,


“Well, Thank God it wasn’t my car.”

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