Jesus christ, squadlings, do I have a story for you…
Yesterday, my dad and I were heading up north to visit some friends. I was going to be staying with my friend Hannah at her university, where I plan on transferring once I leave community college, and my dad was going to be staying with his friend Pete. We had been planning this for weeks.
Yeah, well, things change.
After driving about an hour and a half, guess what. The oil light on our car went on. According to my dad, you should never drive if your oil light is on.
So, my dad pulls over to the side of the damn interstate, and we get out to check the oil. Our car had low oil. Amazing.
Seeing as the nearest gas station was about two miles behind us, my dad and I were in for a walk.
Have you ever walked next to a semi headed in your direction at 70 miles an hour? It’s not fun.
So, long story short, my dad and I get to the gas station after making our way through overgrown grass, piles of trash, and decomposing carcasses of roadkill long forgotten. Then, we buy some oil and head back outside.
We decided to try and hitch a ride back. Many people drove past us. I almost threw rocks at many cars. Finally, a nice lady in a Chevy Silverado pulled over and drove us back to our car. Bless her.
So here are my dad and I on the side of I-94, pouring oil through a paper funnel into our Chevy Tahoe. We pour the oil, and I turn the key. The car starts normally, and the oil light is off.
Huzzah, right? Wrong.
My dad and I get back on the road for about 20 seconds before the damn oil light goes off again. Then, the oil pressure light goes on.
Now, I have absolutely no understanding of anything related to cars. Ask my brother, he could tell you what that means. I have no clue. But according to my dad, IT’S VERY BAD.
My dad pulls over and says the dreaded words: “We’re going to have to call a tow truck.”
So, we called roadside assistance and waited. Every single time a semi truck drove by (which was quite often), the car would shake. It’s not fun sitting in a dead stop while cars are swoopin’ past you at 70 miles an hour.
After waiting for a solid HOUR AND A HALF, a nice man named Alan rolled up in his giant tow truck to save us from the hell that is sitting on the shoulder of the interstate.
Alan The Tow Truck Man drives us to the auto repair shop, and guess what? THEY’RE CLOSED ON WEEKENDS.
Alan The Tow Truck Man drives us to another auto repair shop across town. They tell us they’re “too busy to help us, and the repair wouldn’t be started for three weeks.” HOW HELPFUL, THANK YOU. My dad says that was the first time he was ever rejected for an auto repair. By this point, my grandma had come to town to pick us up and drive us to our destination, which happens to be where she lives.
As friendly as he was, Alan The Tow Truck Man drives us TO ANOTHER TOWN TWENTY MINUTES AWAY to get us to another auto repair shop. Luckily, this rinky-dink town in the middle of nowhere took our dormant Chevy Tahoe under its wing, and will begin working on our repair, whatever it may be, on Monday.
Yes, we DID eventually reach our destination, about six hours after we thought we would. It was a good time, though. One of the shops my friend took me to had a dog in it.
So yes, our weekend was wild. Good times, my friends, good times.