Mr Toad's Wild Ride

"New Girl? Can you come outside and give me a jump?" I wistfully say into my phone.
"Oh no, what's going on? Is it Tasty Cakes? I'll be right out." She hangs up the phone and I wait in the 100 degree parking lot sunshine near the hospital.

Walking by, New Girl laughs at me and pulls up her maroon chariot and continues laughing. I attach the jumper cables and tell her to rev her engine. Bbbbbrrrroooom brrooom! Tasty Cakes starts up. "Hey! Stop draining my engine! My car is going to die," New girl smartly cracks a stab at my predicament. "Ok, ok, geez. I'll be back in a lil' bit." I go to a lunch where my friend Ms. V has already eaten her meal, having waited a whole extra four minutes for me.

"MY GOD, BP, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?!"
"Um, I was just jumping my car before I got here. I'll need a jump from you before we're done tho." She watches me finish my small dog sized burrito, and I get jumped for the second time that day and head home to obtain THE BOX for my return trip after work.

I jump my car in the parking lot after work and get on the road. Buzzing along, I turn out of the parking lot onto the street. put-put-put-putter out, and the car dies. AAAAAGGGHHHH!!!! I motion people to go around me as I connect THE BOX to my battery terminals... fifteen times over the next 30 minutes in the middle of traffic. Word on the street is that every time I'd sit down to turn the key, the clamps would fall off and I'd methodically jump out of the car to re-attach them in the same place and start over... again... and again... and again. We all remember that the definition of insanity is repeating the same actions over and over despite consistent failure, right? Enter BP.

I head home, and inform Muscle Calves and CW I'm going to get a new battery 20 miles away since it's still under warranty. I head out of downtown with THE BOX, past the ghetto, past the warehouse district, across the dry river, pass the cows and cornfields, past the landfill being covered over for new housing developments, and arrive. After exchanging my ill-fated battery and connecting the brand new one, I smile snugly and attempt to start the car. Nothing. Scheista! I break out THE BOX again and jump my car three more times. Each time THE BOX becomes disconnected, the car dies. Great!

I walk back inside and hastily start berating the quality of goods at Walmart to one of the managers. The white chonga girl brushes back her excessively gelled hair with her three inch Lee nails press on. While raising her eyebrows in surprise and pushing out her lips like they'd been stung by a bee, she attempts to remove the elephantine bracelets dangling from her ears in preparation to brawl with me. As she's about to remove the bedazzled chonkla from her feet, the other manager jumps in and explains to us it's probably a dead alternator. Damn

Beating a retreat back to my car, I have a clever idea and cackle to myself. I secure THE BOX inside my engine and connect it to the battery. Using three zip ties to keep my hood down while I drive, I hop into the driver's seat, start the car, and throw the shifter into drive. Tasty Cakes lurches forward and starts heading out the parking lot.

Traveling down the road at a reasonable pace, I get stuck behind a van going 10mph, so I attempt to pass it. Gaining speed, and laughing loudly as I pass the van, the hood opens up in front of me, obscuring everything in sight. I slam on the breaks, THE BOX flies out of the engine, the car dies, and I come to a rolling stop in a corn field on the side of the road. The van passes by with whoops of laughter. This time I get out, find the lightly road-scathed BOX, re-attach it, pull a shoelace off my sneaker and secure the hood down again. I just want to get home.

I gain speed, confident that the shoelace will not melt like the zip ties. However, I noticed earlier that when I press on the brakes, the engine starts to putter out, so I stop using the breaks. I come screeching around the corner at lightning speed and am on the final homestretch. Just then, a truck going in the opposite direction turns in front of me and partly stalls. I honk, not wanting to have my engine die for the umpteenth time, and they don't move. I swerve and look over at the crazy people. Just then, I notice that they were turning into an Auto Zone, where I needed to get my alternator checked. I hang a hard right into the parking lot, and come to a screechy puttery halt. One of the managers looks at me with wide, stony eyes and isn't sure what to say as I step from the black bat.

The manager checks my alternator as I regale him with the details of my journey, and a homeless man approaches. The manager goes back inside, and I grab a crowbar from the backseat of my car to serve the dual purpose of fixing the new dents in my freshly aired hood and to scare him away. I get a new alternator, secure THE BOX to the engine and head home at a brisk pace.

Two miles from my destination, I notice I just passed four police cars, I'm going 20 miles over the speed limit, and it's quota time in Phoenix. Wonderful. Using some rather racy moves, I outrun their detection and arrive at home... only to have the car stall when I get in the parking lot. Such love.