I tell you what, I've already had my Friday the Thirteenth. Since my last post (04.09), I've experienced a series of trying events. Light peeped through at various times, such as Monday afternoon, when a little package containing vintage buttons (pictured above) from my Vintage Buttons Swap partner arrived. She also fashioned a little felt envelope - just for me! Check out her Etsy shop.
Also, I got a great workout from a friend on Wednesday, with whom I'm swapping personal training sessions - me first, then her, post-baby. Also on Thursday, some of us BBC instructors got together for a brainstorming session. If you're reading this as a participant, all I can say is get ready for some new & creative kinds of hurt!
I also got in a little a visit here and a little coffee talk there, and my usual PSU school. Not a bad week, you say?
Okay. Here's the rest:
Tuesday as I was driving to BBC class, my clutch completely stopped working; got stuck to the floor, namely. So I rolled over to the curb, grabbed my backpack and ran the 2-ish miles to class (wasn't late, whew!). After a class filled with much toddler concern over my 'broken' car, and several ride home offers (which I accepted), I called and got the tow truck and the garage arranged.
Now, I guess tow truck guys expect the driver to call immediately after a breakdown occurs, and then wait (and wait, and wait), and swoon when they finally come to our rescue. So, when the dispatcher called and said, "he's there, do you see him?," I had to defend myself. "The other dispatcher said he wouldn't be there for another half hour, which is why I'm not there yet." Miffed, he was (how dare I make them wait).
My plan was to ride my bike the 2.5 miles back to my car so I could give the guy the keys. I hadn't left yet when they called because I'd run into a problem: my tire pump was in our trunk. After banging on my neighbor's door and then remembering that it's probably the middle of the night for him, I recalled that I had CO2 cartridge 'air.' I squirted some into each tire, eyeballing the pressure, and set out.
Who knew along the way that my phone would be getting automated tow truck ETA reminders every 15-minutes (despite knowing that the guy's already there)? And then, picture this:
As I ride through the Foster/Powell intersections, an woman tears by me and then makes a right turn. I half T-bone her, half slam the brakes hard enough to fly over the handlebars. She's going so fast that by the time I actually hit her, I get her bumper instead of the side doors. I hit her, as I'm flying, and then hit the deck. Great. There goes my city cycling confidence. I actually came out with no road rash & no damage to my bike. I had a nice conversation with the crying driver, who "Totally didn't see" me. I reminded her that she's lucky that I'm not a bitch, seriously injured, or one of those people who sues over just about anything.
So then I continue on to the (totally bummed out) tow truck driver. I say hello and apologize for being late, and get a grunt & no eye contact in return. Okay, let's up the ante.
"I would have been here sooner but I got into an accident." Another grunt, followed by a poor attempt at summoning mild concern.
I handed him the key and went home. I posed the rest of the week's travels as a challenge to find alternate modes of transportation. I walked, jogged, bicycled, and Trimetted. Yay for me. Now somebody buy me a drink. It's Friday the Thirteenth!
Oh, and we could have bought flatware service for 72 with our repair bill, so I'm sorry to say that we'll all have to keep holding our breath on that big decision.