This week, R. has to be in to work at 8 a.m. for a leadership class. I _should_ have called child care last night and arranged for either an earlier than 10 a.m. pickup or to drop T. off in the morning myself. Instead, I wound up doing that this morning, since I realized too late last night to call. That's okay. It worked out. But the whole getting both kids dressed and into the car with appropriate gear was sufficiently distracting, that I didn't think to look at the fuel gauge when I got in. Or at any time on the way to child care. Or to my friends (A. and L.) house in Brookline for a lovely chat and coffee (totally impulse and lucky to catch them home and not too busy). Or on my way home. In fact, I first looked at the fuel gauge shortly after I navigated the junction from I-495 S to 2 - E, when I noticed a minivan on the side of the highway. And pressed down on the gas and realized I was getting a whole lot of nothing. And coasted successfully to the side of the road, a dozen or so yards ahead of the other minivan.
Village Auto got some business off that stretch of road today.
This particular stretch of road is both (a) close to home and (b) even closer to R.'s work. Ordinarily, I would call R., R. would go home, get a gas can, fill it, and save my pathetic butt. (And that's only because I feel it's bad form to pop the kid into the stroller and walk along the highway to save our own butts. Especially when it's kinda hot out.) That is, if I had ever run out of gas in the last 20 years, which I have not. In fact, it may have been longer than 20 years since I last ran out of gas. I don't _remember_ ever having run out of gas. Running out of gas is something I Do Not Do. *sigh* But R., remember, is in that class. Not answering the cell. Not answering his extension. I tried to get someone to roust him out of the class. Total failure. I called M., a friend of ours who works with R. No answer. I give up and call AAA. The problem now is that I am so confused and anxious, I think that I've just traversed the junction from 2 to 495 and it takes quite a while before I figure out my mistake. They think, based on the exit number I can see, that I am in Andover and I _know_ that's wrong, but it takes me a while to realize I can freaking turn on the built-in navigator in the car and it will _tell_ me exactly where I am. (Oh, and for unknown reasons, I couldn't find registration paperwork in the vehicle. Hmmmm. And it took a while to figure out the license plate number, altho I did eventually find that on the vehicle inspection form in the glovebox, which may qualify as registration paperwork until some arrives in the mail.)
While I was on hold with AAA, M. called back. While I was waiting for the tow truck (bearing fuel), R. called back. But by that time, I figured I'd just proceed with the official rescue in progress. We did eventually get fuel and get off the highway, fill the tank and then go home.
Once home, I called Heritage Heating and A/C, because the A/C is not working in Brookline and one of our renters has a heart condition. We like him. We don't want him to die tomorrow when it gets into the 90s. I have the regularly scheduled maintenance lined up for May 4 (or 5, whatever -- it's on the calendar), but they tried turning it on last night after checking for mice and while it turned on, it didn't work (surprise). After several minutes of trying to track us down in the computer, they got us on the list for appointments tomorrow. Hopefully they show up towards the 11 a.m. side of the window, and not the 3 p.m. side.
I canceled my other appointment this afternooon, at Westford Racquet and Fitness club. Enough is enough; I'm not getting back in a vehicle. Who knows what might happen.
I did, however, call our doc up in Milford and left a message asking for a letter saying it's okay for T. to have hippotherapy (aka get on a horse). They seemed ever more confused about the request than I was in making it. But I figure I'm going to need it once I find a place that will take us, so I might as well start that process now.
I am very thankful for AAA. There was a whole string of I-need-a-rescue moments when I was a teenager/in my early 20s (this would be when my father, boyfriend/fiance, then husband and in-laws could rescue me). Several of them involved leaving the lights on and the battery dying. A couple of them involved a bad alternator wiping out the battery. One of them involved a blowout, which either caused me to hit a median -- or happened because I hit a median. It's 50/50 in my mind which it was, but my sister R., who was with me in the car at the time, swears it blew out and _then_ hit the median. When I was no longer able to call on a kinship network to rescue me, I got AAA and, quite fantastically, quit needing a rescue. Probably because I started driving a Honda, then switched to a Subaru, and then another Honda. But I still love me some AAA. One of the Hondas did result in a AAA call, but it was an at-home call please-bring-me-a-battery-pretty-please.
ETA: I drove into the garage at the house in Brookline (before I was pregnant with T., possibly before R. and I got married) once with my bicycle still on top of the car. Most of the damage was to the rack, which is appropriate: the car and bicycle were more expensive and more valuable to me. Still, felt like a moron, and told myself not to ever let myself get that distracted by NPR again. Guess what I was listening to on my way home today? An absolutely fantastic episode of The Conversation about iPods and the consumption of music.