CAR TROUBLE,

(with a Nod to Texaco Lights), a short short story 

I had an appointment with my shrink in LA this morning so I left Palm Springs promptly at 8:00 a.m. for my 11:30 a.m. breakfast meeting.  I arrived at 11:50 a.m., twenty minutes late.  The 10 interstate was clogged like shit in a commode.  The fact that it takes more than 3 1/2 hours to drive 123 miles in southern California is only half the problem.  The other half is that my Jag died driving back from LA this afternoon.  I was zooming along, listening to Randi Rhodes on the radio, the ice cold AC blowing on my feet and face when suddenly my car started to sputter.  I was pressing the accelerator but no gas was getting to the engine.  Going 10 m.p.h. on a freeway where the average speed around me was 80 m.p.h., I crawled the Jag across 4 lanes of traffic.  And I made it to the edge of the 60 without getting hammered.  I reached under the seat for my shoes (I drive barefooted) and called AAA.  I was told to immediately press my membership number into my cell phone.  First of all, the AAA card is in my wallet in my bag on the floor.  Second of all, I’m sitting in 110 degree heat on the side of the 60.  Third and final, I couldn’t find my reading glasses.  So, not wanting to exit the car and get crushed, realizing it would be hours before my road kill DNA was found if I did, I turned the key and the Jag started.  I pressed on the gas, my goal being the exit I could see ahead of me.  I made it to the top of the exit.  Then the sputtering started again.  I drifted down the exit ramp, off the 60, onto a half-paved road with nothing around but buildings being built.  I coasted to what could have been called the side of the road if there was a side to the road.  I  turned off the car.  This time when I called AAA I had my reading glasses on, my AAA card in my hand, and I was off the freeway.  AAA put me in touch with their local contracted tow company and I decided to use them.  After I cut a deal with the tow truck driver, a young kid with work on his hands, he agreed to secure my Jag on top of his flatbed and haul my ass to Palm Springs, all for 300 bucks.  For the first 1/2 hour of the 1 hour drive home,  Ribergo played bone shaking rap in the cab of the tow truck, lots of pussy and fuck and cunt and fag and nigger.  I rattled and watched the windmills spin in the heat wind.  The second 1/2 hour he turned the sound off.  He asked me if the fake police car was still parked alongside the 111 going into Palm Springs.  I told him I thought it was.  He said I was his last tow for the day.  I said he ought to hang out and have some fun.  He rolled down the windows, the AC still blasting.  He relaxed, lit a cigarette.  I felt more comfortable than I’d felt in a long time inside the tow truck cab.  Plus, I’d pay almost anything to sleep in my own bed. 

Leave a Reply