Prior to taking the trip, I took my car in and I was told that I had a problem with my transmission and that 75-85% my car would not make it. I exclaimed, "I'll take that 15% chance!" Lo and behold, my trusty Protege held up. Not only did she hold up, but she drove smoothly and arrived promptly in time to see my sisters graduate.
We did, however, stop somewhere around the border of New Mexico (actually I forget where we stopped, but it was a tiny, hot desert town), and I noticed that the tires looked low. A kind gentleman at the gas station checked the pressure and said they were way under pressure. He added air but then noticed that my two front tires were cracked and dry. So, I got two newer tires (newer than my old ones, but not new). He also pulled a wire out of one tire and inserted two plugs, which look strange but do the job. Problem averted, we were on our way.
I was stopped by a cop in a 75 mph zone while on cruise control. I saw the lights behind me and looked down at the marker: 78 mph. I was not ready to stop. Those lights were not for me. I looked around, no other cars were immediately around me. Shocked and confused, I slowed down and pulled over. The officer stepped up to the passenger side and asked for license and registration. "Was I speeding?" I asked. "Yes. You were going between 76 and 81 miles per hour," he replied. "I was on cruise control," I replied, dumbfounded. "On 78," I replied truthfully, then realizing that I was admitting guilt and that technically that was still speeding. “That’s why I’m going to let you off with a warning,” the cop said. I smiled and he smiled and CB smiled (I think). Did “that’s” refer to my honesty or to the fact that he couldn’t even pinpoint a speed that was slightly above the limit? I like to think it was a combination of the two. He handed me the warning to sign, I signed, gave it to him, he checked it, gave it back to me and then told me, “You can do whatever you want with this.” I put it in my glove compartment for future framing.
We made it in successfully. I rejoiced and fell asleep.
In the morning, I brought my suitcase in only to immediately notice that pieces of cloth debris were piled on top of it like shredded newspaper, leaving a trail as I wheeled it in. This was confusing to me. What the hell was this? I then realized that the debris were shreds of my actual suitcase, shreds from the hole that was now apparent. I opened the top and looked through the hole (about the size of a that was bore into my suitcase, through the outer pocket, through the mesh inner pocket to the main compartment. Part of my piece of chocolate that I bought for some charitable cause was eaten. "Looks like a mouse got in there," my Grandpa said matter of factly. What? A mouse?
Scary, right?
My suitcase was most definitely in perfect condition when I packed it, so apparently the little mouse culprit weasled its way into my car and then into my suitcase. Unpacking more of my car, I found that it also gnawed its way through the neck of one of my favorite pajama shirts and my tennis racquet bag. No sign of the mouse though. That city mouse may be making new field mice friends by now. Or maybe it is dragging its little body, its tail leaving a dusty trail, across the Arizona desert looking for water or melted candy bars.
3 comments:
That's crazy about that mouse... and a little disturbing. I'd be a little more amused by the story had I not had my recent dead-mice-on-the-bottom-of-my-shoe incident.
By the way, that reminds me... remember when you thought an animal crawled up into your car and died, and it turned out to be cheese in your trunk?
Yes, I do remember that. Dead animals and outdated melting brie can smell very similar.
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