I hate to admit it, but I may have jinxed my daughter's car.
There, I said it, but it needed to be said. Better you hear it here first, than from my daughter, though she might have a word or two to say about it.
Okay, a little back story here. My daughter, M.H., her husband B., and daughter, G., moved back to the area from Rhode Island last summer. If one is going to be technical about it, M.H. and B. moved back here; G. is moving here for the first time. No matter, they're here.
They'd been here for not quite two months when their old car died completely. Nothing like the smell of burning rubber, followed by a loud boom, a large poof of smoke, and a blown engine in the middle of a major intersection to announce its demise. This was followed by the purchase of a scooter so that M.H. could at least get back and forth to work.
Cute as the scooter is, as well as good on gas, it is not exactly designed for hauling around a family of three. At least, not all at the same time. When B. ended up in the hospital (see February 14's post: What a week, or Is everyone in the hospital?"), it was obvious that buying a car was in their immediate future.
M.H. mentioned she'd been looking at cars. Then, a couple of days later, I called and got B. on the phone.
"M.H. is on her way to your place," he told me. "At least, I think she is."
A few minutes later, a car horn sounded out front. It was M.H. in her new white Toyota. Well, not new new, but new to her. It ran well, it didn't have a blown engine, it had room for four people, comfortably; in other words, it's wonderful. She was able to take B. and G. places, able to pick me up for errands, able to get to and from work comfortably when it rained.
A week or two later, M.H. stopped by. "Come on, we're going to the beach!" There was no one else there.
"We, who?" I asked. When she gave me that look that said, "A little slow today, are we?", I hurried on, "Are we picking B. up on the way?" We had to pass right by their place on the way to the beach.
"Sure, we'll swing by our place and see if he wants to come along," she said. "He'll probably want to come."
But no, B. was comfortable where he was. After hanging out for a few minutes, M.H. and I headed back to the car.
"Enjoy yourselves," B. said as we left.
Once in the car, though, we realized the beach was not an option. Remember the question about how to make God laugh? (Answer: Tell Him your plans.) This was one of those times. The car would not start. Wouldn't even make a noise like it wanted to turn over, no click, click when she turned the key, nothing.
"Oh, great, now what?" she asked.
"Pop the hood," I told her. The rule is that if your car won't start, even if you have no idea what's wrong, even if you can't tell an alternator from an alternate universe, you pop the hood, right?
I tried moving the battery cables. If the car isn't getting any juice from the battery, it's obvious the car won't start. But the cables seemed tight. M.H. tried turning the key again. Nothing. She called B. on her cellphone. (Yes, I know: we were still parked in front of their place; at this point, that's beside the point.)
"The car won't start," she told him.
I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, as I'd grabbed my cellphone to call my friend Kevin. He's regaled me with enough stories of growing up and putting together car after car after beater car with friends that I figured he'd be able to give us a pointer or two. I was already leaning towards either a new battery or an alternator, but I figured he could offer some advice.
After listening to the symptoms ("ran great coming here, now it won't even try to turn over"), he concurred that it was probably either the batter or alternator. "If she still has the scooter, she can try jumping the car off that. I'm guessing the scooter's got a 12 volt battery, so it should be able to handle that."
I thanked him and passed along the news. We went inside, got the jumper cables, along with a battery charger B.'s mom had given them several years ago. Unfortunately, the charger needed to be charged for hours before its first use. The scooter was equally helpful for jumping off the car.
Finally, M.H. asked a neighbor for help. Mr. Neighbor pulled Mrs. Neighbor's pickup truck around, we hooked up cables, and sure enough, the car started. Sounded beautiful. We thanked Mr. Neighbor, put the cables away, then headed back to my place. We both figured the beach was not an option that evening.
There were a few more quirky happenings with the car that evening, part of which involved Kevin bringing his cab to my place to jump-start M.H.'s car again. It died a third time as she pulled up in front of her place.
A few days later, with a friend's help, she got the car to where she'd bought it; it turned out to be the alternator. It was changed, and off she went.
Then, this morning, M.H. called and offered to help me run errands. We got a few things done and came back home.
"Hey, want to try going to the beach again?"
"Sure, why not?" It would be a pleasant diversion.
We got back into the car and first headed to her place. She had groceries, so we'd put them inside and see if B. wanted to come along. M.H.'s neighbors were sitting out front. I hoped that this wasn't going to be a pattern: we decide to go to the beach, we stop at her place, we see the neighbors out front, the car dies.
B. said he wouldn't come along, he was happy to stay home. Again, he told us to enjoy ourselves at the beach.
So, we get into the car. M.H. puts the key into the ignition...and it starts! We both smiled.
"Good!" we breathed.
We were almost to the beach when M.H. decided she needed to gas up the car, so we pulled into the next station. After putting in a few gallons, she climbed back in, put the key into the ignition, and...nothing. She tried it again. Nothing.
"Really?" she said. "I pick you up to go to the beach, we stop by my place, and the car dies again?"
We pushed the car away from the pump (no minor thing with this particular car) and into a parking space. M.H. called someone from work who promised to stop by after work. Then she called B.
"The car won't start." I got out of the car to give her some privacy.
The coworker arrived a little while later, but while the car sounded like it wanted to start, it wouldn't. So M.H. called the place she'd bought it from. The mechanic who'd changed the alternator told her to have me try moving the positive battery cable. Didn't help. He'd send someone.
After the coworker left, but before the mechanic arrived, we both decided that I'd jinxed the car. "You, the beach, the car: It's the Tampa Bay Car Triangle!"
This time, however, it was a simple fix: the clamps on the battery cables were loose; they were fixed and we were good to go.
"No, don't worry about it!" the mechanic told us when we tried to slip him some cash.
"Okay, it's a tip!"
But no, he wouldn't take the money. We thanked him, he left, and we headed for the beach.
It was almost deserted, wonderfully cool, nice waves...definitely relaxing.
On the way home, as we waited at a light, M.H. glanced over. "I've got an idea. Once a week, I'll come over, tell you we're going to the beach, we'll stop by my place, the car'll die, we'll have a hissy fit, then I'll take you home."
I guess this means that if that's our plan, God'll let us go to the beach...
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