Stranded at the CTA. Branded a fool.
I get to Midway after a long day of interning (didn’t take that long), schoolwork (took longer than I thought), and video-editing/script-writing. All I want is to go home and see my family, give my cat Oliver a treat, and go to bed.
Then my tire blows.
I pull back into the Midway parking lot, and call my parents. Neither of whom know how to change a tire. Nor does my brother (who was in class anyway, and across town). Nor does any of my nearby friends. Or any of the morons I know, apparently.
But my dad comes anyway and we try to pump air in the tire. The next hour and a half is spent trying to fill it with air. It only is enough to get me to the nearest gas station and try to do SOMETHING, because leaving it overnight at Midway is not an option. They will tow my car’s sorry ass, flat tire or no.
So at the nearest Shell Gas Station we spend the next hour or so trying to change the tire. My dad calls—I CAN’T BELIEVE IT—his almost son-in-law. I kind of want to kill myself (or my dad. I would be happy with either one) as the guy whose proposal I rejected without so much as a second’s thought sits there on the floor of the gas station at night and tries to fix my tire while I continue to bitch on the phone to my mom. On my dad’s cell, since my phone’s battery could not be revived.
Finally, I give up, take my dad’s keys and drive his car home so I can get some work done and leave him to deal with the mess that is my car. So he’s fixing the tire, STILL, now at 11:15 p.m. while I sit here in my PJs at home by the fireplace. I should feel bad. But he did NOT need to call ‘The Ex.’ So my dad shall suffer. But I’ll probably buy him a gift tomorrow for spending his entire night saving his daughter.
….and now I’m watching Dancing with the Stars. I miss Maksim Chmerkovskiy.
3 years ago