Karma Redux

(Not a bad name for a rock band, that.)

OK. When we left off yesterday I'd just escaped the jaws of death when my steering wheel basically came off and I was zipping down I-81 at 65mph with less control than a trash can lid on a snow-covered hill. I didn't die, though I had three distinct opportunities to do so, and I was feeling lucky.

And I guess I still should, and actually, I guess I still do. But now the cold gray light of dawn has arrived and I have to deal with Loss of Steering Wheel Cleanup.

I began the day by having my folks take me to work. Now, I freely admit that if I had the gumption I could ride my bike back and forth to work, but I'm not overflowing with gumption lately, so the bike's still in the dennette, and the 'rents did the honors. After getting to work and telling an incredibly unimpressed staff of my plight, I set about doing the "next steps" of getting my, pardon the expression, shit in order. By that time I'd already been told by 3 different people that Podmobile Inc. needed to hear of my situation, so I decided that before I did anything about moving the podmobile out of my driveway that I'd talk to them.

But that didn't come until lunchtime. Most of my morning was, of course, taken up by TheCompanyIWorkFor tasks, because, as we all know, TheCompanyIWorkFor waits for no man. Or gal. But before I start dissing The Hand That Feeds Me I have to say that my first order of business was to call A Major Car Rental Company and get a car. I love my folks (more about that later), but I really didn't want them dragging me everywhere I had to be, especially if some of those places were the liquor store and the Smoker's Den. And the porno theater, of which we don't have one here in B'field, and even if we did I wouldn't be going there, but you know, it's a matter of principle, right?

So I called Major Car Rentals and decided I'd just throw in as an aside while I was giving them my information, "This is Bet at TheCompanyIWorkFor, and I need a car. And if you need to reach me, I'll be at TheCompanyIWorkFor, and here's the number." And in quoting me my prices, they gave me - the good old TheCompanyIWorkFor discount! So as far as getting a car I was still feeling pretty damn good. Because it was way cheaper than I was expecting. And I decided to enjoy that luck while it lasted, which was roughly till lunch, which I had to be taken to by my folks. (I kept telling myself, "This is what your life is going to be like if you ever get a DUI and lose your license. Remember this.")

So, when asked what I wanted to do during lunch, I gave the answer, "Go home and be alone to call Podmobile Inc." And that's what I got. I steeled myself with a clove cigarette and dialed the number. Oh, btw, one of the people who advised calling Inc. was the owner of the dealership where I take mr podmobile for his servicing, but I was still pretty nervous to make this call, because, as we all know, I'm a weenie and can't stand up for myself under any circumstances, even those in which I almost died 3 different ways.

OK. I called Inc. the first time and got the wrong number. That wasn't so good. Then I called Inc. again and got put on hold, where I was told by a very comforting automated voice that while I was waiting I should have my car's VIN handy. I didn't. So I went and got it and called Inc. one more time. After hearing the very comforting automated voice again, I finally got a real person of the female persuasion. She asked me what she could help me with, and since I knew mentioning TheCompanyIWorkFor wasn't going to help me in this situation, I told my sad and sorry tale. I started it by saying, "Many people" (Do I even know "many people?") had told me it was imperative that I call them.

"I was on the interstate going 65 mph and my steering wheel came off!" I blurted out.

"Are you okay?" she asked with concern. And now, I'm perfectly willing to admit where this is probably where I made my first mistake. Because I said, "Well, yes, I'm OK." *Ehhhhhh!* Next customer! But I went on to tell her how absolutely horrifying it was and how everyone who'd heard about or seen the residuals of the experience said they'd never seen nor heard anything like it in the whole of their lives. And she tended to agree with me on that point.

Then she asked me how many miles were on my car. And this is where I made my second mistake. Not in telling the truth, for I wouldn't have done anything else but that, but I guess the mistake was driving as much as I have all these years. Because when I said, "Around 120,000 miles," a major portion of concern went out of her voice and she went into Corporate Mode.

She then gave me "The Spiel." She told me what I had to do before they would send someone out to look at the car (it wasn't that big a deal, just have the car towed to the nearest dealership and call them back to let them know it was there so they could then start conversing between themselves). Then she told me about the inordinate amount of miles on my car (apparently Inc. sells a vehicle that goes on for as many miles as grains of sand on a beach, but they'd really rather you didn't drive that many), and how with that many miles on the vehicle I must understand that anything Inc. would do about chipping in towards repairs would be considered "a goodwill gesture," and that they couldn't guarantee the amount or even existence of their goodwill at this time.

And she gave me a case number, a pat on the back, and a boot off the phone.

And then it was back to work to get caught up on everything I'd missed by trying to get my, pardon the expression, shit in order. And I had my car towed to the dealership.

Major Car Rentals called me about 3pm to tell me my very own rental car was now available, so it was into Parentland one more time for a trip to get it. Now, I'm going to go out on a limb here with a stunning and embarrasing admission - I've never rented a car before in my life. So I had no idea what all was involved in it. In case you yourself are wondering, it's "lots."

But for now, I'm the proud driver of a Temporary Podmobile, which happens to be a 2005 Chevrolet Malibu. Yes, I'm going to bulk up on the Lancome Tan-In-A-Tube, and you can all call me Malibu Bet. It's actually quite a nice car, has air and a CD player and is fun to drive as well. Well, as fun as it can be for me to drive because, let's face it, it's a 2005 model vehicle, I don't own it, and I just came off having my steering wheel desert me just when I needed it most. I know I have insurance and all, but I won't be able to deal with the shame of having those people look at me if I'd happen to scratch or dirty their vehicle. I'd have to do the honorable thing and end my life.

After taking possession of the vehicle it was a quick trip to the podmobile hospital, because I realized I'd left one of my gas credit cards in the car and that made me a little hinky. When I popped in to get it, I got to see my little fella there in Sick Bay, and when I opened the door to get my card - he actually had no steering wheel. It's hard to explain, but it was something akin to going to visit your best friend in the hospital and finding him there with no head. As I was leaving, the service bay manager said, "I've never seen anything like that in my whole life; I'm glad you called Inc." Yes, thank you friend. Tell them that when you speak to them, please.

Then it was home, where I stopped by the office to get my office keys and the phone number page with the case number on it. But all this had taken so long it was past five and the office was locked up. So the phone call back to Inc. will have to wait till tomorrow, and I'll have to come in to work in the morning through the front door - just like a client! Sheesh!

That's basically where things stand now, but just a small word about the parents. And let me preface this by saying that as nutty as they are, I do love my parents a great deal and it's very very comforting to know they'd do anything for me, even take me to the liquor store (well, my dad would probably enjoy that more than anything else), the Smoker's Den, or the porno theater if we had one and I was inclined to go, which we don't and I'm not.

But to my parents, I'm, well, yes, I can admit it, I'm their little girl. And they like being my parents. I mean, they really like it, and the older I get and stay single, they're liking it more and more. So they cling, and smother, and do things like come into my office almost every day that they're in town and stand and stare at me. And when I'm at their house they'll occasionally stop whatever they're doing and come downstairs and stand and stare at me.

And this whole experience of my being snatched from the jaws of death? Well, you've never seen such major league staring in your life. Here's a good example - when they came to take me to Major Car Rentals, they didn't pull up outside the office and honk. They pulled up and my dad - my nearly legally blind dad - got out of the car and came over and got me and escorted me to the car.

They followed my every step at Major Rentals, and when I popped over to get my credit card in Sick Bay, they followed my every step there. Then when I was driving home, I'll be damned if they didn't stay right behind me the whole way. "Hell, they've been up my ass walking all day, and now they're up my ass driving!" I recall exclaiming. But they did finally cut those hard-to-sever apron strings at the turnoff to the gas station and I was allowed to pump alone.

God bless 'em.

Anyway, after all that, a trip to band tonight was just too much to bear, even though it was the dress rehearsal for the Bigass Independence Day Concert. I'm sure they survived just fine without me. And if they didn't, hey, I almost gave my life for you guys - three times!

OK, I should shut up about that, I guess.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Just because I didn't band it tonight doesn't mean I didn't play my horn. I played the piece Mr M gave me to practice, Cavallini (and meatballs) - Adagio and Tarantella. The Tarantella's Tarant-hella fun, especially when you've had a few belts of Goldschlager.
* I also watched for the first time the show my sister is having a ball keeping up with, "Dancing With The Stars." It's not bad, though really cheesy. Sometimes, though, you have to just give up your cool and enjoy yourself some cheesy.