The story so far:
Things Not Made To Open - 71 by scryier
We're in Florida. It's Fourth of July weekend and we're finally in Florida. The trip South was a nightmare. We left Koa's house around mid-night, crossed the Verrazano Bridge into Staten Island; got off at the first exit and drove straight to Steve's house. When I first picked up the 27 foot truck, I left my car in front of Steve's house because Koa doesn't drive and I had to drive the truck back to Brooklyn. So, once the truck was all packed and we were ready to go, I had to pick up my car.
The roads in Staten Island are brutal and they started punishing the car tow as soon as I pulled off the expressway. Three blocks from Steve's house, the car tow must have decided enough was enough, because it hit a crater and went sailing some ten feet into the air. I imagine it bounced along behind us, due largely to the fact, that it was no longer attached to the back of the truck.
I think Koa must have seen all this in the passenger side-view mirror because her window was wide open and she suddenly leaned half way out of the window before coming back into the truck .
"Hey, Ben! You know that thing you were pulling?"
"Yeah," I said, slowing down.
"You're not pulling it anymore."
Koa leans back in her seat and I stop the truck. I pull along side the curb and get out. I walk to the back of the truck and look for the car tow but it isn't there, anymore. I look back up the street and find it's pulled along side the curb, as well.
"Aw ****," I think.
I run back up the street and find the ball holding the tow hitch on the back of the truck. It's in three different pieces and the very end of the tow is bent.
"Now what do I do?" I utter, not asking anybody in particular because there isn't particularly anybody around to ask.
I go back to the truck, pulling the tow along, behind me and look up the number on the brochure in the glove compartment, to report accidents. I'm not sure this constitutes an accident, but I need a tow, because this tow obviously isn't the tow that's going to pull my car all the way to Florida.
"Well?" Koa says. "Now what?"
"Now what?" I repeat, looking up at her from the passenger side of the truck. I slam shut the glove box. "Now I call the Ryder people. They get us another tow and we're on our way."
"And how long is that going to take?"
"I don't know, Koa. How long can it take?"
"If you weren't driving so fast, this wouldn't have even happened."
"I wasn't driving that fast. I was doing the speed limit, which is about 25 miles per hour."
"Well that was 25 miles an hour too fast for the tow; wasn't it?"
At this point in time, I realize what it is so I dearly love about Koa. She is the embodiment of my father. No matter what the circumstances, if something goes wrong, it's all my fault. If a tornado dropped from the sky and blew my house into a dozen different directions, Koa would look at me and sincerely want to know why, of all the spots on the face of the earth, I had to pick that particular spot, to build my house and you can bet, my dear old dad would be right beside her with a grin and a nod.
I start walking towards Steve's house. There isn't any point in arguing with the girl. I'm not going to win. If Koa says I was driving too fast, then I was driving too fast. After all, Koa knows all about driving. She's spent so much time having me chauffeur her around, there just isn't anything about driving Koa hasn't learned.
Halfway between the house and the truck, I spot a pay phone. I dial the 1-800 number and explain my predicament. The kindly woman on the other end of the 1-800 number promises to send me a tow truck. I hang up the phone and go for my car. By the time I get back to the truck, the tow truck is already there. The tow truck driver is already on the two way radio talking to the 1-800 number. He's explaining that the ball cracked and this poor bastard needs a new ball.
The 1-800 number says that I can have one, just as soon as the place I got the truck from, opens.
"You mean there's nobody there?" I ask the tow truck driver.
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Soon as they open, you go down there and they'll hook a new one up for you. Meanwhile, I'm gonna take this one with me and drop it off in the morning."
"Yeah. They open around eight in the morning."
I watch the tow truck driver hook my tow to his tow and drive away.
I go back to the truck.
"Well?" Koa asks. "Now what?"
"Well," I begin. "We'll be able to get another one, just as soon as they open."
"Open?" She asks. "Did you say, open?"
"That's what I said."
"And when will that be?"
"Eight in the morning."
"So we can't leave here until eight in the morning!"
"Well what do you want me to do? Leave without my car?"
This is about where Koa starts showing off her bilingual talents. She does this while throwing open the passenger door of the truck, jumping out and slamming it shut. I get out of the truck on my side and we meet somewhere in the middle of the front bumper.
Koa pushes past me and walks to the drivers side of my car.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Give me the key."
"What do you-"
"Gimme the key!"
I give her the key.
She climbs into the car.
"How do you start it!"
"You planning on-"
"How do you start it!"
"Put the key in the ignition and turn it!"
Koa starts the car. She turns on the radio, slams the door shut, locks it and rolls down the window.
"I'm going to sleep, now. If you'd like your nuts to continue to swing freely between your legs, you'll get the **** away from me!"
She rolls up the window, leans back in my reclining bucket seat and closes her eyes.
"PMS." I tell myself and go crawl off to sleep in the truck.
'Things Not Made To Open - 71' statistics: (click to read)