And so it continues

I was driving to work, almost obeying the posted speed limit, thinking about everything I needed to get done today when a car pulls up next to me and the woman in the passenger seat starts gesturing wildly. I stared blankly back at her until she rolled down her window and informs me I have a flat tire.

Excellent, so I moved into the slow lane looking for a turn off when I hear a loud pop and my car pulls to the left. Well shit, I pull over on to the shoulder and shake my head. There’s something about me and freeways — I just like to be stranded on them. And I was only about five minutes away from work.

To top it all off I left my cell phone at home, this is the second time I’ve forgotten my cell phone and I’ve been stuck on a major freeway. Last time the accident was decent enough that a couple of cars stopped and called the police, this time I had to hoof it to the nearest call box, about a half mile behind me, and there was an exit in my path so I had to do a little traffic dodging. It was also about a thousand degrees out with gale force winds (or that could have just been the semis hauling ass past me).

I got to the call box and I talked to the nice lady who I’m pretty sure thought I’m an idiot for forgetting my cell phone, not having AAA and not knowing anyone’s phone number that could come and help. In my defense I do know two numbers; one is my old roommate from college who lives in San Diego and the other is my old boyfriend who probably wouldn’t appreciate the call. Note to self: try to memorize work’s number and that of at least one person who lives in San Jose. But at least a tow truck was on its way.

So I start my trek back to my car when I hear a honk behind me, and the slowing down of a car. I look back and it’s an old, faded green Chevy Astro Van. Now as a horror movie aficionado I should know better than to get anywhere near this guy, instead I basically skip over there and ask him what’s up. He was just being nice and offering to help but I told him I had a tow coming. Right as he was about to take off, a cop (with lights on) pulls up in front of us. I keep walking and the cop get out of his car and tells me to stop right there.

At this point I’m a bit confused as to why I’ve been told to stop but I do it because I’m not completely retarded. He then looks at the van, which suddenly decides to take off, and back at me.

“Where are you coming from?”

I laugh and tell him the car behind him, then go on to explain that I had to walk to the call box and that the guy in the van had just pulled over to be nice. I don’t think he believed me.

He then says that he’ll drive me back to my car as it is safer (my car is a good 200 yards away) but there is AC in his car so I’m excited. As we are about to take off the radio blares a thousand different codes. The officer then speaks for about five minutes with maybe two intelligible words spoken, which I translate into meaning “I’m taking a girl to her car.”

When we get there he talks code into his walkie talkie again, which I assume means, “We got there.”

Afterwards he tells me that whenever an officer transports a female they have to report the exact mileage he takes her, and that there had been incidents in the past. That didn’t really make me feel better. After about 20 minutes of sporadic, awkward conversation (he felt bad about leaving me on the side of the road) the tow truck shows up.

Now I’m kind of living out of my car right now, so to get to my extra tire I have to move the contents of my trunk into my back seat and the Bruce (the tow truck driver) is not amused. So about ten minutes later he gets started. And $70 later he finishes.

And I’m off to work two hours late — again.