Backsies Is What There Is Not: spring break

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

It COULD Have Been A Bad Thing

Last week was Spring Break. Glorious, rejuvenating Spring Break. Even though the weather was cool and a little rainy, delightful Spring Break. Because, you know, Spring Break.

It started with a spider lowering itself from the vicinity of the passenger side visor while my daughter and I were driving home from a volleyball tournament, and while we screamed a lot (A LOT), the spider ended up dead and we didn't, and that was a good thing.

Tuesday morning, Emma and I (mostly I) loaded the car for our trip to Nashville to stay with my Person, Terri, and her daughter (another good thing). We stopped to fill up with gas and get drinks for the road (not a good thing, as Emma threw back a Mountain Dew Code Red and TALKEDNONSTOP the entire trip).

Because my car has a teeny little habit of burning oil when it is first started (think exits and entrances by the Wicked Witch of the West), I thought it best to check the oil before we hit the road, since we had just taken a 250 mile round trip for the volleyball tournament. When I opened the hood, however, I immediately noticed the absence of the cap that goes on the thingy the oil goes in. Hmmm. I knew my husband had put oil in the car before our trip to the tournament, so he apparently didn't put the cap back on afterwards ("It was dark when I did it" was his later excuse). The oil level was fine, though, so I shut the hood and we took off, with me figuring I'd pick up a cap when we got to Nashville.

Our trip was uneventful. We sang to the radio. We talked (one of us talking way more than the other one). We arrived in Nashville and Terri and I went out to hear an old friend sing, and that's the last thought I gave to the cap that goes on the oil thingy. After a couple of days of driving around to my favorite restaurants and shopping and shizz like that (many good things), I finally remembered the cap on Thursday and stopped at O'Reilly Auto Parts Store. Here's how it went down:

Me: You know that thingy where you put the oil?
Counter Guy: Yes.
Me: You know that cap that goes on it?
Counter Guy: Yes
Me: I need one of those. Mine's gone.

The very nice counter guy said he didn't have one in the store, but he could have one there in a couple of hours.

Me: No problem. I've been driving without it since Friday.
Counter Guy:
Me: What?
Counter Guy: You've been driving a week like that?!
Me: I drove from Joplin to here. Is that bad?
Counter Guy:

There was an exchange of wild-eyed looks between my counter guy and the OTHER counter guy.

Other Counter Guy: Uhhh, your engine could be ruined.
Counter Guy: The oil will spray out without the cap.
Me:
Counter Guy: I think I'd better check your oil.

He followed me outside and raised the hood.

Counter Guy (incredulously): There's no oil sprayed in here.

He checked the oil.

Counter Guy (even more incredulously): Your oil is fine.
Me (smugly smiling): Whadya know?

Shaking his head, he closed the hood and went back inside.

I returned to the store a few hours later. My cap had been delivered; in fact, I didn't even have to walk up to the counter and ask for it. The counter guy remembered me (imagine that), rang it up ($3.80 plus tax) and said he'd put it on for me (which I resented slightly, because it implied that I was too stupid to put it on correctly, although I never told him that I wasn't the one who lost the cap in the first place. Maybe I should drive back and set the record straight?).

So, what could have been a bad thing ended up a good thing. Or, if not really a GOOD thing, then a not as bad as it could have been thing.

And you KNOW those two counter guys will be telling everyone about the dingbat who drove over 500 miles without the cap on her oil thingy and the car didn't self destruct.

I'll be a legend.

That's a good thing.

This post was an entry for Mama Kat's Writing Workshop with the prompt:

Talk about a time you got lucky.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Another Of Those "Lived To Tell About It" Thankfuls

Spring Break. Spriiiiing Break. SPRING BREAAAAAAAAK!

I've been on Spring Break.

I took my laptop with me and never even opened it. Not once. Didn't write blog posts. Didn't read blog posts. Just spring breaked.

We started our Spring Break with a volleyball tournament, like we've started many a spring break over the past few years. Nice weekend, spent at the lake house with my parents, who were able to attend the games. We took Ruby and Pete with us (to the lake house, NOT to the volleyball games). My son rode to Branson with me and Emma, then went back to school on Sunday with my husband, who had driven down separately. Emma and I stayed an extra night, leaving on Monday morning (because we were too lazy to pack up Sunday and go, because, well, Spring Break). We were toodling our way down the interstate in a moderate amount of traffic (including a tractor-trailer directly behind us) when my daughter pointed to a spot near the visor above her and said, "Spider."

"What?" I asked.

"SPIDER!" she shouted, and I looked at the spot where she was pointing and, indeed, there was a GINORMOUS SPIDER lowering itself on a silk thread from the visor. (I have no exact measurement, but I estimate it to have been about 3/8 of an inch across, legs and all, and HEY, YOU DEFINE GINORMOUS SPIDER IN YOUR TERMS AND I'LL DEFINE THEM IN MINE.)

She screamed.

I screamed.

And the two cats in carriers in the backseat (who were facing each other, because I thought that would be fun for them on a two hour car ride, seeing as how much Pete hates Ruby and all) started to yowl.

I reached into the backseat and grabbed the first thing I could find that might work as a weapon, which was a jacket that my husband had forgotten at the lake house and we threw in the car with us. I brought the jacket upwards and smashed it into the roof of the car next to the visor. But when I brought the jacket back down, the spider (who appears to have been a quicker thinker than we were and had shinnied back up his silk thread) slid right back down again from his spot behind the visor.

She screamed.

I screamed.

The cats yowled.

I brought the jacket back up again, squashing it against the roof of the car and holding it there. When I lowered the jacket, it was evident the eradication of the spider was successful (I squished it with the jacket - sorry about your jacket, dear).

She screamed.

I screamed.

The cats yowled.

And it was all accomplished while driving 70 mph (okay, maybe a little more than that) down the interstate in traffic.

The Book of Secret Rules allows that, pursuant to Rule 14.6(c), surviving a spider attack while hurtling along the freeway counts as a full list of thankfuls. Rule 14.6(c)(ii) states that no one shall be Judgy McJudges about the killing of spiders, especially humongous, deadly ones.