The Gods who control the distribution of chaos in the universe like me. This means they give me *lots* of chaos to contend with.
It started with a pair of motorbikes in spot #40. My spot. Now spot numbers, instead of making sense and corresponding with apartments? Well, they're oddly numbered, and you have to get the landlord to assign you one. So, Jill and I made the one fatal mistake. Instead of just going out and parking on the street, we decided to swipe another spot that didn't look like it was in use. I mean, I had a remote, I was a resident...
So, in two hours, we go from car to no car. Yeah, the owner of the spot we parked in, instead of, y'know, issuing a warning by taping a note to the car or something, called the towing company straight out. And perhaps it was my fault for not leaving a note, but after that Costco run, I was fairly exhausted and didn't go back down to do it (The one time in my life I needed a pen, I wasn't carrying one, and Jill rarely carries one). And it's really, really, *really* unsettling to find your car missing, I have to tell you.
So anyway, we call around and find that it's in a tow yard on East 12th St and 49th Ave. in Oakland. Which is way the fsck away from Broadway and Plesant Valley, which is about where I live. And the only transport we had, since our ride is there, is the wonderful system known as AC Transit.
So, two hours later (or something like), we get there. $195 later (which my mother covered, thank god, but this is going to be fun trying to get some of it back...), we have a car. And to back up slightly, the car had been smoking all day. Dad's a mechanic, so he told us not to worry about it, and go to Costco. And we did. So we get back and it decides to leak oil like crazy. Or we think it's oil anyway. Anyway, we're not going to drive it anywhere until we get an allclear from Dad, and the first step to getting an allclear from Dad is to have somebody who knows something about cars with us. Hence, Luns enters the picture.
Luns trekked all the way down to the tow yard with us, and as we're trying to get turned around and headed in the direction of North Oakland, which is roughly in the direction in which I live. And when we tried that, the steering made a not happy sound. Ah, guess that leak is the power steering fluid. Frantic call to dad later, we discover that automatic transmission fluid will work in a pinch, and luckily there's a store down the block, so Luns and I get some and bring it back. A bit later, it's in the engine and we're cruising back to North Oakland, happily.
Jill meant to go up Grand Ave, but missed the turn (she's not familiar with the area, nor am I, really, and Luns didn't recognize it), so we end up in the wrong direction. So we end up on Harvard St, back in a neighborhood with twisty little roads all alike, and Jill attempts a U-turn. Hearing the familiar "we don't have power steering" sound, she stops the car, and Luns hops out to refuel the line with the transmission fluid. He stands there for a second, with an odd look on his face and says, "Oh. Cool. Fire."
After taking a few seconds to realize that Luns wasn't joking, Jill and I bailed ship. Luns blew out the flames (they were small), and another frantic phone call to Dad later, we decide to tow it. After calling the tow truck, we realize there's not enough room for the three of us in the tow truck, and Luns, knowing his way around the area, volunteers to get food and wait for us at my apartment. Besides, it was going to be 60-90 minutes for the truck to show up...
Two hours later, it's approaching midnight and getting pretty cold, and my cellphone's near dead, and Jill doesn't *have* hers. Luckily, we found a nice guy who let us borrow his, and then, when the towing insurance people suggest it's going to be another 30-45 minutes, not guaranteed, we decided to leave the car there and take the guy up on his offer to take us home.
And that's where it stands now. And I feel somewhat like a miserable failure.
And I need to sleep, 'cause mom and dad are coming down in the AM. Night.