Hey there, chickadees.
This weekend, I rode in a tow truck.
For the first time!
It was actually a fairly nice experience.
Should I back up?
You got it.
Saturday morning, bright and early, JD and CC picked up JW and I to get an early start on our weekend getaway to Michigan.
7:38, that’s our official start time, said CC as we pulled out of the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.
JD and I stretched out in the back seat with iced coffees and magazines.
The road trip had commenced.
About two-and-a-half hours into the four hour trip, we made a quick stop for snacks and water, and cruised back to the highway in under ten minutes.
Paw Paw! JD and I shouted, making fun of the cute little place we’d landed in for our break.
If only we knew how quickly we’d be back in town.
About fifteen minutes later, we suddenly slowed down for no apparent reason.
I have to pull over, Chris said.
We parked on the side of the road, alternating between attempting to turn the car back on (nothing) and feeling the vibration of semi-trucks whizzing by the narrow shoulder we were planted onto at the moment.
At least we have snacks, JW said.
I knew there was a reason I loved that man.
After a half hour or so, a nice man named Warren peered into our car, and frowned at us.
Let me call another truck, he said.
It turns out tow trucks are not spacious vehicles.
We required two.
Eventually, we all piled into two (spacious! clean!) tow trucks, and headed to Tapper Ford in our just-visited Paw Paw, which was a dealership where we were sure we could fix our problems (whatever they might be. We’re city people. We don’t actually, at this juncture, have any idea what might be wrong with the car).
When we arrived at our destination, I lumbered down from the giant truck, and watched Warren unhook the car, wave, and drive off.
It was at this point that we noticed the car repair portion of Tapper Ford was actually closed.
We walked into the dealership and explained our dilemma.
I could get you a new car in an hour, if you wanted to buy one, the salesman said.
At this point, that seemed like a viable option.
I asked to use the bathroom and was taken through a hallway that reminded me vaguely of 1960.
This is what I found hanging outside the restrooms.
When I got back, none of my friends seemed to be in the lobby.
They left you here, one of the salesmen chuckled.
You can just work here, he laughed.
I smiled and hightailed it outside.
Several phone calls later, we had secured a rental car at the Kalamazoo airport, which was about a half hour away.
Unfortunately, we had no way to get there.
Is there a cab we can take, someone asked.
We’re city kids, through and through.
Eventually, a nice salesman offered to take us to our destination, so we piled in his car and chatted about new Ford features as we made our way toward Kalamazoo.
Sir, what’s the mascot of Paw Paw, JW asked.
The Redskins, he answered.
I thought it’d be something with paws, I whispered to JD.
The Kalamazoo airport, it turns out, is a very nice place.
It’s lovely here, I told JD, as we huddled on a bench and waited to find out where our rental was.
Actual passengers looked at us like we had two heads.
Two hours from the side of the road incident, we couldn’t care less.
20 minutes and one Chevy Malibu later, we were back on the road, with the promise of a return trip (to pick up the car OR a shiny new model) next week.
In my head, I’m already getting a new car, JD said.
I want it to say Paw Paw on it. The people of Paw Paw are so nice, she said reflectively.
You learn something new every day, chickadees.