Epic Journey

It's been a while since the last time I wrote anything up here. But last night I had a horrible, horrible experience over in SF that I just HAD to relate.

Okay. So I was driving Vivian (first mistake, right?) and I crossed the bridge going into SF.

About the time I hit the place where the 80 merges with the 101 (just before it hits 280), my entire car started to shake. But I was in the very left lane and I couldn't get across right away, forcing me to drive for about a mile in order to get all the way over to the right and then wait for an exit to magically appear. (This is an are of the 101 that has NO exits for miles sometimes. Very inconvenient.)

Then the exit that I took ended up being an overpass that became an underpass and then there was no where to pull over, so by the time I turned onto a side street that had a shoulder, I'd driven about 1.5 miles on what turned out to be a very VERY flat tire.

Then, since I don't have AAA anymore as of January, I had to call my parents to get the new Farmers info.

After hearing that I'm stuck after dark in the industrial sector of SF on a street without lights, my parents start freaking out. I suppose that's understandable. But my mom decides to make the call to Farmers herself for reasons unbeknownst to me. So getting the service call in took about twice as long as it should have.

I wasn't sure my spare was any good (since I've never had to use it), so Farmers said they were going to send a tow truck just in case. Half an hour after that, I get a call from this guy (who I swear is saying his name is Papi) telling me he's on his way and he seems really nice, so I'm not all that worried.

By the time the guy gets there, it's been an hour and half, I'm on this freaking side street in the industrial section of SF, and my aunt won't let me get off the phone because my mother called her despite my asking her NOT to.

He arrives in a turquoise Geo and he has a very thick accent and a Eurotrash ponytail. No tow truck. No extra tire.

He takes the flat off the car while he's trying to inflate my spare and he tosses it on the sidewalk with this incredulous look. Then he's all "Damn. That is DONE." Always comforting.

Luckily, after inflating it, Papi decides that my spare is good to go, but the saga doesn't end there.

Oh no. Not when it's ME.

It turns out my spare is one of those you-can't-go-over-50 mph thingies. And Papi is VERY adamant about that. In fact, here's how our conversation went...

Papi: So where do you live then?
Me: In the East Bay.
Papi (eyes widen as he mutters): Oh crap.
Me:...
Papi: Okay, you'll probably make it. But you can't go over 50.
Me: Okay.
Papi: No, this is not a game. You can't go over 50.
Me: Got it. No going over 50.
Papi: No, I'm serious. You go over 50, you blow out.
Me: Whoa. Got it.
Papi: Promise me. If you blow out, you're done for. Lose control, smash into the guardrail. NO GOING OVER 50.
Me(getting a bit nervous at Papi's vehemence and seriously considering calling a cab to get back to Oakland): Right. 50.
Papi: I know how it is, when you get the salsa going on your stereo and you just start cruising, but you can't do it.
Me: Right. No Borcua Boys. Got it.
Papi (a bit more calm): But you'll probably make it over the bridge.
Me(planning on not going anywhere CLOSE to 50mph): Oh god.
Papi: Don't worry. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.

So I drove over the bridge with my hazards on never going above 40. People LOVED me. I really appreciate how people come together in a time of crisis. They were all honking to show their support.

Oh, and it turns out his name isn't Papi. He works at a place called Pop-A-Lock, and he just has a really thick accent. Still, Papi is the most awesome man on the planet.