I am going to recount to you the events that occurred on Saturday, the twelfth of May, in the year two thousand twelve. Allow me to preface this by saying that I have never been in a car accident, or anything dramatic relating to a car, with the exception of a few fender benders. Therefore, while you may deem this as over dramatic, it was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me.
Prepare yourself.
I love the beach. I had been dying to go to the beach for a very long time, and I had decided that this would be the weekend. I had taken a personal day on Friday in celebration of Katie C's birthday weekend, (and because my personal days don't roll over to next year so...I needed to use it,) and Rachel had come in to town, so our plan was to roll down to Galveston and acquire a healthy glow whilst taking in the sounds and smells of the vast, turquoise blue (HA!) waters of Galveston.
Because Mother Nature likes to bitch-slap any plans Rachel and I ever make involving visits to bodies of water, we decided to schedule massages on Friday due to the overwhelming threat of rain in the forecast. Of course, Friday turned out to be a gorgeous day, but our massages were definitely worth it.
Fast forward to Saturday.
After a night of singing and dancing in our private karaoke room at Kung Fu, Rachel and I decided that the best way to recover would be to mosey on down to Galveston and bathe in the sun. We donned our bathing suits, grabbed our supplies, and were on our way. We were a bit flustered as we drove down Montrose; we weren't aware of the Art Car Parade that was blocking Allen Parkway, but we got past the congestion and were happy to be travelling at rapid speeds again.
I merged onto I10 from the feeder and dodged cars across the lanes so that I could get to the exit lane for I45 south. Even on a Saturday at noon, the 45 south lane was clogged, so we were idling for a little while before something strange happened. When I tried to press on the brake pedal, I had a really hard time pressing it down and almost rolled into the car in front of me. Once we finally came to a halt, my car shut off.
SHUT OFF. Wouldn't accelerate, wouldn't start, the wheel locked...and we FREAKED OUT.
Rachel knew something was wrong when my brake pedal wasn't working, because I started getting a bit nervous, and then when the car stopped, I said, "Oh my God, Oh my God! My car turned off! What do I do??!!??"
"CALL 911!!!"
I've never called 911, but this did seem to constitute an emergency as we were sitting ducks in the middle of one of the busiest highway stretches of Houston. In case you're confused about where we were, we were on I10 eastbound, about 100 yards before the split for I45. One of the busiest stretches of highway in Houston.
I gave 911 my information and hung up. All there was to do now was wait, (and make a comment about how Rachel and I will NEVER EVER make it to the beach in this lifetime.) I stared, terrified, in my rearview mirror just waiting for an oblivious speed demon to turn us into a little, crumpled, black soda can. Luckily, two very nice men stopped traffic in the left lane, got out of their cars, and pushed us over onto the shoulder.
Once on the shoulder, one of the angels who helped us gave me the number of the closest towing company. In my frenzied state, I forgot that I had roadside assistance and called the towing company. They were 60 minutes away, so I called about three more towing companies before finding out that only certain tow trucks can tow cars from a major highway. Here comes a rant.
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In Houston, two trucks are ALWAYS WAITING AND READY to tow cars out of parking lots. I just thought they were stationed at every other intersection waiting to pounce on the latest driver's indiscretion. Because of my experiences and the experiences of my friends with tow trucks, I just assumed that a few of them would be racing each other for the opportunity to sink their chains into my car. The ONE TIME I actually needed a tow truck, I couldn't get one.
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Rachel and I waited for an hour. We were told that the highways had surveillance cameras and would dispatch a truck to us soon, but it never came. Wanna know who else never came? THE POLICE. They never came by to check on us, even after we called. One of them drove by, and as he passed we read, "To Protect and Serve" on his rear end. Shyeah. Right.
So I'm on the phone with my mom, about to die of heat exhaustion, when I decide to try and start the car again. It started! There was no Check Engine light on or anything, and I had taken my car in about a month ago to get work done, so I knew it was up to date on most everything. Since my dad was mowing the lawn and didn't hear his phone ring, I called Pilar's dad to get his opinion on whether or not I should drive home. He felt like my car had probably just gotten water vapor in something or other (it had rained profusely the night before) and the car had shut off as a safety feature. Gee thanks, Mazda. If they have the technology to incorporate a safety feature like that, couldn't they just program a lady's voice to say, "Pull your car over now or you will die"? A car turning off mid-highway is a pretty laughable "safety feature", but I guess that's better than the possible alternative of a fiery explosion or something of the like.
Anyway, after getting the go-ahead from Mr. McKay, Rachel and I just drove on home. That's the part that makes us laugh the most.
So how did it end?
I just turned my car on and we drove home.
Classic.
I hope I was able to convey just how horrific this event was. It's a little funny in hindsight...but still terrifying.
