Stalled

My car stalled at the intersection of Lake Street and 22nd Avenue last week, right smack in the middle. And let me tell you, between the road work, rush hour, and angry people trying to get to the Midtown YWCA or Savers or our wonderful public transit Light Rail that only helps if you are going to the MSP Airport or the Mall Of America, people do not have the time for a stalled vehicle. Luckily, after a try or two, my car started up and took me the two more blocks I had to drive to get me to my destination, but I got my fair share of, "What the fuck?!," "Get out of the intersection!", and, "Crazy Bitch!"

While a car on the fritz is nothing new for me, on this particular day it thew me over the edge into a land of buzzy anxiety. And, while I understand the frustration of: What-is-Neurotic-Girl-in-Car-Doing-Blocking-Busy-Intersection During-Rush-Hour,
the profanities were not helpful and maybe just a little harmful to my already dwindling ego.

But, lucky for me, my incessantly energetic parents, always ready to save the day, were on their way through town, they just happened to be going to a birthday party in the Twin Cities, and they eagerly took the time to swap cars with me that very day so that Shitty Bliss's Sister, as they endearingly refer to my car, could get a home-town makeover with Dad's car guy. My parents were adorable by insisting that they Save the Day, and along with a car swap I got an earful of stories about my dad and his own car troubles when he was in his early 20s, except his car troubles had to do with a little Ganja and a Frito-Lay Corn Chip Truck and a number of blondes and their minister father. Nevermind, that's entirely another story.

Don't get me wrong. I am incredibly grateful that with relatively little hassle, my car troubles mostly dissipated. Honestly, I am very aware that this is not the common story, that most people would have to wait while their car got towed and then made it work without the car until it got fixed. I have been that person. But this time...I have a different story.

I am now temporarily driving the LuLuII, this huge obnoxious red thing with tinted windows and butt warmers. It is...embarassing, to say the least. I feel really strange paying for my groceries with change while I am driving a Bling-Mobile.

And I am frightened to parallel park. For one thing, this car is so huge that I feel like I am on top of a mountain, trying to discern distances that are hundreds of feet below me. So, living in an apartment building on a busy street, it means that I generally park far away just to avoid placing the mountain inside of close-knit rocks.

I have begun trying to disguise myself so that no one sees me in the Bling-Mobile. It is everything I object to--it is large, it is expensive, it is something of an SUV with a HEMI engine (and I don't even know what that means), and I have a hard time understanding how my small, petite, unassuming mother gets around in this beast.

I have started to wear sunglasses and a hood whenever I am in public with this vehicle, and you can also bet your toothpaste that I am not venturing out into the world except for necessities, like Soup Day with Aunt Linda or, you know, work commitments.

So, if you see me driving around in a very unlikely massive car, please do not acknowledge me. Pretend you don't see me, and later on ask where I have been all week. Let's just put this behind us. It's better for everyone, and I can't wait to get my quirky, smaller, gentler, not-so-poweful-but-empowered engine, dirty car back.