Grounded

The land yacht has been officially beached.

I filled up at the 7-11 next to my house this evening so I could head to the DMV and replace my broken driver’s license (not nearly as cool of a story as you might think) only to find that the Lincster wouldn’t start. Again.

If you’ll remember, this has happened before. It did the exact same thing on the way back to Reno from Wells and it’s happened a couple times in my driveway.

Each time I’ve been able to rub a piece of metal on both ends of the relay to give the starter enough charge to start (the first time I paid a mechanic $80 to do this), so other than the embarrassment of rubbing said piece of metal on said relay in the middle of rush hour on McCarran, I’m thinking no big deal.

Except this time it didn’t work.

When it became obvious that rubbing the metal screws wasn’t going to accomplish anything except for a slight tingly feeling, I called Alex (AKA Alex the Bastard) to come get me so I could grab my Triple A information and call for a tow.

The Triple A dude was nice, except that despite the clear skies and dry roads, Reno was apparently in the midst of some invisible blizzard that prevented the tow truck from getting to my car.

This “extreme weather warning: meant that Alex and I had to hang out at the 7-11 for an hour and a half.

So we chatted up the 7-11 lady. We stood and looked at the store’s Chapstick options. Then we sat in his car and waited. At first we made fun of the “handicapped” people that took advantage of the spot to grab a quick sixer on the way home from work.

Apparently public drunkenness counts as a handicap now.

After about an hour we realized the windows in his car had steamed up, so we rocked the car back and forth and did the Kate Winslett hand on the window thing from Titanic to see if we could freak anyone out.

Yep, we’re pretty mature.

This all went down at about 4:15. The tow truck guy showed at about 6:00.

We’ll call him Senor Dickface for anonymity, and this is the conversation we had:

Snr Dickface: “What’s the problem?”

I’m thinking: Well, I haven’t had a beer in about 15 hours and I’m jonesing for the sushi I ate earlier. Oh wait, and my car’s not starting, genius.

What I actually said: “My car isn’t turning over. I think I’m having a problem with my solenoid.”

Snr Dickface: “How do you know it’s not the battery?”

Thinking: Because I’m not an idiot.

Said: “Because I’ve been having solenoid problems for a couple weeks. Oh, and when I turn the key the radio and all the lights come on.”

Snr Dickface: “You know those little Christmas lights that you put on the tree? Well 10 seconds of microwave power can light a million of them, and your radio is the same way.”

Thinking: What the fuck does that have to do with my car?

Said: “Huh, interesting.”

(Senor Dickface goes to truck and gets powerpack, comes back, and tests my car’s battery. Then he tinkers with some other stuff for about 15 minutes – and by tinker I mean hits things with a metal bar and says “Mother fucking Ford bastard” before finally giving up.)

Snr Dickface: “Well, it’s not your battery. I think it’s your solenoid or starter.”

Thinking: No shit.

Said: “No shit?”

So the guy jacks the car on the back of his truck and starts for my house. Turns out he likes Led Zeppelin, so we actually struck up a little convo about the band’s immortal awesomeness and the possibility of an international tour this fall. He was also pretty stoked that I share a birthday with guitarist Jimmy Page.

The whole incident mostly sucked. For reference, waiting in front of a 7-11 for two hours isn’t nearly as fun as Jay and Silent Bob make it look.

And now the car is essentially a really heavy windbreak in front of the house and I’m not sure how I’m going to get to school on Monday. Mother fucking Ford bastard.

Oh, the only funny thing was when the middle-aged lady on the pump next to us locked her keys in her PT Cruiser while she was filling up. She waited like 30 minutes for Senor Dickface to get done with my car so he could get into her only to find out that the passenger side door was never locked.

Classic.

Currently reading: “High Fidelity” by Nick Hornby, “Dreams from my Father” by Barack Obama, “Persepolis” by Marjane Satrapi, “Lord of the Rings” by JRR Tolkien

Line of the day: “Nobody – not Alison, or Kevin, or me, or the sexually uninitiated retards hanging off the end of the swingboat said anything at all. I stung, and I blushed, and I suddenly forgot how to walk without being aware of ever single part of my body.” High Fidelity.

From the iPod: “Buy You a Drank” by T-Pain

Latest movie: Superbad (I just can’t get enough)

Amusing internet video line: “Does anybody have the new Beastie Boys album, and if so could you share it on iTunes? Pitchfork says it’s the hotness.” (from Hardly Working…)