My Evening on 290
On the heels of my Jury Adventure, last night I was on 290 headed out to the 'burbs to meet with my writer's group when smoke started pouring out from under the hood in heavy traffic. It was like drag racing, only backwards and upside down and really slow. So actually, not very much like drag racing. More like a steam locomotive, because that's what the scary stuff turned out to be; steam, not smoke. I popped the hood and found a big nasty hole in the radiator hose. It looks like something hatched out of there, and there's a cloud of stuff pouring out of it which I didn't feel like putting my hand in, thank you very much. Called Marianne to see if she had the number of a good garage, but she was at a late meeting for work. Called Kiljoong for same, and he said he'd drive down and let me use his Triple-A. That's right, the Archangel Kiljoong. He rocks. So I waited on the shoulder and read a little of my book to keep myself from freaking out about how much this was going to cost me (not too bad, as it turns out; it was indeed the radiator hose, and the thermostat needs replacing too, but the guy quoted me a very reasonable and non-myocardial-infarction-inducing price) and how much I didn't want to miss the Semi-O's tonight since we're going to be discussing one of my stories and another by a prospective new member whom I actually think is quite good. But what's the deal with honking at someone who's parked on the shoulder with his hazard lights on and the hood popped? Do I look like I'm going to get out of your way, you speed freak? Pull the gear shift lever out of your ass. Damn it. Anyway, I waited for Kiljoong to arrive, and then we both waited for the tow truck to arrive, and all told this took probably an hour and forty minutes. Nice guy, though, that tow truck driver. On the way to the garage (Kiljoong's following in his car), he asked if I liked jazz, and when I said yes--imagining that he had some soothing Count Basie or Charlie Parker on the system--he cranked up the Smooth jazz station, which was playing Enigma's "Sadeness." Like I said, he was a nice guy and I didn't kick up a fuss. But good grief. And the next song was Janet Jackson's "Come Back to Me." Not jazz. Anyway--and I promise to end this paragraph before the end of your work day--by the time I got home it was 9:15.
Marianne got home a little while later and asked if I wanted to walk over to the porn/liquor store and get a couple of bottles of wine and watch some Coupling. Hell, yes.
So, I am hungover. But I have an excuse.