1st Lt. Milo Minderbinder: We’re gonna come out of this war rich!
Yossarian: You’re gonna come out rich. We’re gonna come out dead. -Joseph Heller “Catch 22”
It’s been awhile since my last post. A long while in fact. Damn near a month. Firstly, let me explain…. it’s not you, its me. I failed you. I couldn’t write. Sometime in the last 30 days my name changed from Corey to Mrs. Dad.
It started on a Friday evening, Susi the BocaFrau was heading down to Fort Lauderdale International Airport to pick up her friend flying in from Kentucky. I had just gotten home with my son, prepared to enjoy the next few hours of quiet without any of the girls here. As I was just putting the groceries away my phone rings. I see on the caller ID its my wife and figure she wants to bitch about traffic. Not so much.
“Honey, you need to come here right now, now Honey!” says a trying to be calm BocaFrau… “Uh, ok, but, what’s going on that I need to come there?”
“I’m sorry, Honey, I dontknowwhatsgoingonwiththecaritsnotdrivingandI’monthesideoftheroad!” Point of fact here, my wife is difficult to talk to on the phone under normal circumstances, under stress? Damn near impossible.
“Ok, I got the side of the road thing, what happened and where are you, exactly?”
“Well, I was dri…. ving on …the turnpike (she’s doing everything she can to hold in the panic) and …and…cars starting to honk at me, and then the car wouldn’t go, uh, was ist?, ah accelerate and now I’m ASHLEY SHUT UP! I’m I think on 595 and the turnpike.” Hold a conversation on a cell phone and yell at your offspring at the same time as your car is broken down, that Ladies and Gentlemen, takes skill!
“Ok” says I thinking that 1. the car is running, and 2. I never changed the Transmission fluid in the car and that the transmission overheated: “Ok, put the car in drive and see what happens”
“Nooooo Honey…I’m not…..I can’t”
“Nooo Honey, I can not! I won’t its broken! I have the children in the car!”
“PUT THE FUCKIGN THING IN DRIVE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW AND SEE IF IT MOVES…DO IT!”
“Oh Honey I’m scared……..”
“FINE! GODMAN IT ALL SO MUCH!!! ……its ok, Hun, just call GEICO for a tow truck and I’ll be there to pick you up in less than a half hour..”
“So I should call GEICO then?” She says very close to tears and I realise that she’s doing everything she can not to lose it. “Well, it can’t hurt and we can’t leave your car on the side of the road…so, yes I would call GEICO”.
After I get off the phone I prepare myself for the journey to wherever Susi is on the Turnpike, in rush hour traffic, on a Friday. This is where my car, my little Passat, gets to shine. Its a real German built model, stiff springs, low clearance, and 6 turbo boosted speeds available to me in a short throw gear shift. On city streets it sucks balls. The car can barely get out of its own way…On the highway though….thats a horse of a different color.
I came down the Turnpike at around 100mph weaving in and out of traffic talking on my hands free kit to Susi to get her exact location as best as she could give it, never slowing past 90mph. It was glorious!
Tow driver and I arrived where Susi’s car broke down, and we have it towed to the local Honda dealer. A few days later the report comes in that the transmission has failed. Its common with the milage on the car and its going to be around 5 large to fix it.
We don’t have 5 large. so…….My Passat and I, because BocaFrau don’t drive stick, have been press ganged into “Dad’s Taxi service”. That’s right! For the the first time in my life and for the past month and at least the next 9 days; I’m a Soccer Mom!
I actually kind of like it. Funny enough, its cool to be able to see and hang out with the kids even 20 minutes more than I usually get.
What I don’t like though is the other Soccer Moms out to kill me! They drive Land Rover’s, Mercedes, BMW’s, all kinds of large European cars all while their cell phone is glued directly to their ears. And they are clearly out to kill me. They try every morning! So far, unsuccessfully. But they are out there and much like the Terminator they can’t be bargained with. They can’t be reasoned with. They don’t feel pity, pain, or remorse, and they absolutely will not stop, ever, until they find a Starbucks.
Every day my little Passat and I face death against the Soccer Mom’s… erratic lane changes, stopping in the middle of a 45mph street, putting on their makeup, no turn signals, all while driving vehicles that they can’t see over the dashboard without a phone book on the seat.
I hate Soccer Moms.
But thats where I’ve been and why I haven’t posted. 65 miles plus daily to get 2 kids an education… and they’re out to kill me, the Soccer Moms are out there…..