Many of you know that the heater in my Blazer has been broken for a while and that my dad, a mechanic, has been trying to fix it for me. Dad is off work until after the New Year, and I suspect he needs something to keep him busy because he called last night and suggested we meet this morning in Bolivar and trade cars.
So we traded cars this morning and ate breakfast at Smith’s. (Yum) Chris and I drove Mom and Dad’s (circa 1993) Suburban back to Springfield. All was good until we were just north of town, when the transmission stopped working.
Yeah, you read that right. The transmission stopped working. No more automatically changing gears. I drove through Springfield praying for red lights, so I could manually drop it down to first and accelerate from there because all gears above second weren’t catching like they should.
We drove a country road out of Springfield to Nixa entirely in second gear, hazard lights on, getting passed by small children on tricycles. Embarrassing.
We were supposed to drive the Suburban home to Clinton on Christmas Day. I think Dad’s coming down with a trailer to pick up the car. He’s probably joy-riding through Clinton in my Blazer on this beautiful day just chuckling at my bad luck.
Lesson: I will never complain about my car and its problems again. (At least until it’s really in need of replacement.)
Time to vote: brilliantly creative or gigantic idiot?