Drive of Death!
Fear on Wheels!
Er . . . Scary Ride to Get Coffee and a Potato!
These are all would-be titles of the movie that was my morning yesterday. Tell me which one you like best!
Soooo, I wanted coffee. Special coffee. Something steamy and styrofoamy. McDonald’s coffee! But there was a problem. My car was covered in half an inch of snow crystals. Brush them off? NAY! I would take Dave’s car. Sounds simple, right?
The Red Car
I’ve never officially been allowed to drive Dave’s car. The one time I was given permission was when I had to pick it up from the Toyota dealership and despite the fact that it was at the TOYOTA dealership I still had to ask for “The Red Car.”
Because I didn’t know what kind it was. I only knew that it was red.
Luckily, McDonald’s is only a few feet from our house, or I would never dare to drive The Red Car.
Oh, and I also needed a potato.
First, I ventured into the deep, dark recesses of the basement to find where Dave had hidden his car keys.
A HA! Right there on the dresser.
The keys themselves are terrifying, because there’s a panic button in addition to the “lock” and “unlock” buttons. Hit the wrong one and . . . ? I don’t know. You die? Something bad happens. All I know is you do NOT want to hit the panic button.
Once in The Red Car, I had to make some adjustments. Here is some more terror, because I must remember EXACTLY where everything was. The seat. The rearview window. The radio station. The radio VOLUME.
See? Horror Ride! I haven’t even stepped on the gas.
At McDonald’s drive-thru, I’m in trouble. My easy, non-death-car (Mazzie) has old-fashioned roll-down window opener handles. But The Red Car has these new-fangled auto-button roll-downies. WHICH ONE? In my panic (I can hear the impatience in the order taker’s voice), I push blindly at them. Soon I’m sitting in a freezing Red Car with only the driver’s side window still rolled up.
“CAN YOU HEAR ME I WANT COFFEE!”
I’m almost in tears, so I just open the damn door and give my order.
(Then, of course, I roll down the correct window in my confusion to roll the OTHERS up.)
Never mind. I’ve got my coffee. I shall sip it calmingly whilst I shop for a potato.
Usually I like to stock up on groceries so I have fewer trips to make. But for some reason, I have an aversion to getting more than one potato per trip.
I had just bought a dang ol’ potato yesterday. And I had some problems.
At the self-checkout lane, the machine didn’t recognize “Potato, russet.” The unfriendly voice told me to wait for assistance. Man, I hate that, don’t you? After several years, the nice lady came to push in the correct potato code. I tried to memorize it, but her fingers were too fast.
So. New day, new potato. I remembered what I learned yesterday, and tried to outsmart the machine. This time I checked the other options. HA! I’ll fool it by clicking on “Potato, sweet.”
Please wait for assistance.
Damnit! And the lady who helped me yesterday is the same one to come to my rescue today. I’m embarrassed. What is going thru her mind, regarding this strange potato-buying/potato-lying woman? And why do I care? I have a right to buy a single potato every day for the rest of my life if it so pleases me. And it does.
An old lady in the parking lot says to me, perhaps in reference to the extreme cold: “We must be crazy!”
Well, maybe you are, grandma, but I really needed this potato and coffee. Now stand aside while I juggle my purchases to find the right button . . .
WEE-OOO WEE-OOO WEE-OOO WEE-OOO WEE-OOO
Next time I’ll just brush off the damn snow crystals.