How a brokey alternator and a late-night airport run nearly killed me…
Indulge me for a moment while I channel my inner Hyperbole and a Half.
Last weekend my truck started acting up. Gave the symptoms to a couple people, and they both said “broken alternator.” So on Monday I brought it into the shop. That’s the short version of the story. Anyway.
Monday I also had to pick my dad up from the airport after 11pm, because everyone else had to work the next day. Nevermind the fact that my mom stayed up until we got him home anyway, but whatevs. Before picking him up, my mom kept insisting that his truck was slipping around too much on the ice and that his sand buckets weren’t in the right place. So I moved them. I picked him up, got him home, no big whoop. There was a tiny amount of snow on the ground, but nothing I hadn’t ever driven in before.
After a few moments of chit chat and being given a chocolate bar for my troubles, I headed home around midnight. That’s when it got interesting. And I drew pictures to best tell my tale.
Turns out moving the buckets was the culprit. It made the back ultra-heavy, which pulled the truck out of control. I’m glad that was the case. I was starting to doubt my abilities as a Minnesotan. Seriously, spinning out across three lanes makes you feel like you’ve failed some sort of test. I was afraid I’d be kicked out of the state.
I knew I shouldn’t have moved the buckets. I knew I would be fine with them where they had been. If my dad could drive with them there, I could too. My mom’s paranoia damn near killed me. But it didn’t, and I learned, so it’s all good.
And then yesterday I was two feet away from being t-boned by an impatient bitch who couldn’t be bothered to take an extra second to make sure BOTH lanes were clear before speeding away from a stop sign. The universe is trying to kill me, but I’m not going down with out a fight, sucker!