This past weekend was a comedy of errors. Seriously. (Maybe that's an oxymoron? I don't know and I don't care.) Jillybean and I started out innocently enough driving down to the St. Louis area for the wedding of a friend of ours. It was a long drive down there on a Friday afternoon, but not too bad since I had company. And we stopped at a few rest areas on the way, so it was broken up a bit. We arrived at our hotel in O'Fallon, and checked in. Unfortunately, I had not remembered to get directions to the restaurants we wanted to try in downtown St. Louis, so we were more or less forced to stay in our general neighborhood for dinner. This would ultimately mean that the most we'd see of St. Louis was the hazy arch from a distance of I-don't-know-how-many miles. Alas. Anyway, we had decided earlier in the day that we'd like to have some barbecue for dinner, so we asked the girl at the front desk where the best barbecue place was, and she sent us to a place called Smokey Bones, which is, apparently, a chain. But on a positive note, that was some damn good barbecue. The rest of our exciting Friday night was spent at Barnes and Noble, and then at Walmart (I needed to buy a disposable camera, seeing as how the memory card I bought for my digital camera the day before was the wrong kind and did not fit.) We are two wild and crazy girls, let me tell ya. I think that Jilly would have been up for something more exciting, but I had been driving all day and was plumb tuckered out. So after Walmart, we went back to the hotel, watched HBO for a while (Ever seen the show "Flight of the Conchords"? I am in love!!), and went to bed. Next day was the wedding. We woke up early enough to catch some breakfast at the hotel, then just chilled in the room until it was time to get ready to go (we had our leftover barbecue for lunch and somehow managed not to get barbecue sauce on either of our dresses). We drove to Belleville without incident, and the ceremony was lovely (to be discussed in further detail in a later post). The church was ginormous, too! In between the ceremony and the reception, we had about 2 1/2 hours to kill, so we putzed around the town to see what we could see. The first thing we saw was a DQ, so we stopped off for Blizzards. The second thing we saw was a psychic who was offering $5 palm readings, so we stopped, but nobody answered the door. The third thing we saw was a cutesy little antique/resale shop, so we stopped, but despite the huge OPEN sign in the window, they were closed. The fourth thing we saw was my car, in the parking lot where I'd just parked it, unable (unwilling?) to start. Damn. There is nothing more stressful than being stranded in an unfamiliar place with no idea who to call for help. We ended up walking down the street in our party clothes to a gas station to ask for help. There was a kind fellow there (a customer who was well-known to the employees) who promised to help us out and jump my car as soon as he finished buying his beer and cigarettes. So we walked back up to the parking lot, and a minute or so later, the guy and his wife arrived in their big ole pick-up truck. He helped us out very efficiently, and with a cigarette hanging stereotypically from the corner of his mouth as he growled, "It didn't even make a spark!" Since it was a Saturday, and we were in unfamiliar territory, and there didn't seem to be any sort of mechanic or otherwise who was open for business (and not a single Sears Auto to be found), we figured the only thing we could do was to drive it where we needed to go, and hope there was someone around who could give us a jump when we'd inevitably need it next time we got in the car. So that's what we did. We drove to the reception hall (even though we were early), where we ate and danced and chatted the night away - Jilly even had several admirers! And instead of going to the after party we were invited to (I was grumpy and tired ... again), we got a jump from some friends of ours, and headed back to the hotel, convinced we'd have to jump it again in the morning and keep it running all the way back to Chicago, and thankful that I had just filled up the gas tank BEFORE the battery died on me. The next morning, as expected, the car needed another jump, so the nice girl behind the front desk offered to pull her car around and help us out. Mission accomplished. Now our plan for the trip back to Chicago was pretty simple - DON'T TURN THE ENGINE OFF! I had enough gas to get us there, so all I had to do was make sure I didn't automatically and accidentally turn the engine off when we stopped for food, or for a rest stop or what have you. We had a little tag team routine where one person would get out and stretch their legs while the other stayed in the car so it didn't get stolen. We stopped for breakfast and Jilly got out to pick it up for us. We stopped at a rest area on the road and were both able to get out and rest for a while. We stopped for lunch at Culver's and once again, Jilly got out and ordered for us (cheese curds, yum). But at each stop, I had to say aloud to myself as I parked the car, "Don't turn the engine off, don't turn the engine off ..." because you don't really realize it most of the time, but reaching over and turning the key after you park is so automatic, that changing your routine can feel incredibly awkward. On the way back, I called my dad, who I figured would have a solution for what I should do with my car after I got back home. Together we decided that I'd drive out to their place in the burbs, and the following morning, he'd help me jump it and take it to the place to get a new battery. This was the best solution I could come up with, because since he had just retired the previous Friday and would no longer be going to work, he was the only person I knew who'd be available on a Monday morning to help me out. The only hitch was that by the time we got back home, my gas tank was at a point where I wasn't sure if I could make it back out to the burbs. So, I stopped at my apartment (and kept the engine running - Jilly was still with me), and we called my former roomie, who was available to meet me at the nearest gas station to jump my car after I filled up. I was informed later by my dad that technically, I could have filled up with the engine running, despite the giant signs at the gas station that said to turn the engine off. I had suspected this was true, but whatever. I didn't want to risk it. So after that long ordeal, I dropped Jillybean off at her apartment, and with much improved confidence that I'd get to my parents' safely, I drove off into the sunset. The next morning went off without a hitch - Dad jumped my car, I got a new battery that worked beautifully and didn't cost a fortune, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Next time I decide to take a road trip, I'm flying.
2 comments:
I don't know if you were aware, but batteries generally need to be replaced every two years or so. Which probably means you were pretty much due - eh? And, yeah, your dad's right: you can leave the engine running when you fill the gas tank. Aimee used to do that all the time. It potentially could have been a greater hazard to jump your car in front of the gas pump, with the possibility of touching the cables together and creating a spark (that's why they tell you not to use your cell phone at the pump - because of the static electricity...)
But, anyway, you probably don't want to hear a lecture from me about that, hah. Hope you had a good time at the wedding!!!
Yes, I am very aware of those facts. I am actually really lucky that I hadn't had to replace the battery until now - six years after I got the car! Woo hoo! Like I said, I suspected it was okay to fill up with the engine running - I had seen my Dad do it - but I didn't want to take that chance. And I also voiced my concerns to Scott about jumping it at the station, but he seemed confident that it would be all right, so we went ahead (there was enough of a breeze that any fumes would be pretty quickly dissipated). All very routine, really. The stressful part was that it happened at a VERY inconvenient time, when I was in an itty-bitty town where nothing was open, and I knew nothing would be open the next day. C'est la vie.
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