What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

July 23. 5:54 pm.

My laugh after I wrote those words is still echoing in my ears.

I plopped into my car to begin the "dashing" portion of my plan. I put the key in the ignition, pressed down on the clutch...hmm...the clutch is depressing pretty easily. In fact, I think the only thing that depresses more easily is an orphan listening to The Postal Service.

I've been meaning to put in some more clutch fluid...

I shifted into reverse. Er, I tried to shift into reverse, rather. What I actually did was cause the gears to scream like a banshee devouring a garbage bag full of hubcaps. The shifter jerked violently in out of my hand, the car gave a choking shudder, rolled backwards 1.7 centimeters, and then died.

I leaped out of the car, ran to the trunk, stopped, leaped back into the car, hit the trunk release, leaped out of the car again, ran back to the trunk, and I began flinging items aside in search of clutch fluid. Brake fluid, rather. Brake fluid is what my Tercel uses for clutch fluid, according to the manual. But either way, it was as dry as this desert. There was no oasis of brake fluid or of clutch fluid to be found in my trunk.

Having found nothing of use in my car, I resorted to "Plan B".

"Plan B" was essentially the second half of "Plan A", only slightly modified. Instead of adding the clutch fluid and then driving off, I would not add any kind of fluid and then drive off.

I knew it wasn't the best "Plan B" ever concocted, but thinking takes time. Since I had to be at the airport very, very soon, I had almost no time to speak of, and I certainly wasn't going to waste what little time I had with any unnecessary thinking.

I sat back in my car. I began to pump the clutch pedal to build the hydraulic pressure...or is it pneumatic pressure, since there is almost no fluid? Either, way, pumping helps.

"Plan B" was resting on two inviolable Laws of Nature:

1. I am foolishly stubborn.

2. Donovan is never wrong. (It's true. Once, after listening to a very persuasive argument put forth by Donovan, the color Black quickly realized that it was, in fact, white. The color Black acted accordingly and immediately went to the nearby mall to purchase Hawaiian shirts, Birkenstock sandals, and socks to wear with the Birkenstock sandals.)

Donvovan had once told me that it is still possible to shift without using the clutch. It's not recommended, he had added, "because, you know, there's a reason they have a clutch."

I continued pumping.

I turned the key. My car started reluctantly. I took a deep breath. I slowly wrapped both hands around the shifter. My car idled nervously. "I'm sorry, baby. If this works the way I hope it will, it's gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

I revved the engine and yanked the shifter into reverse.

Elsewhere in the underground parking garage, a team of security guards abandoned their search for a hubcap-eating banshee and began to search furiously for a rhinoceros vomiting up a table saw.

My car lurched out of the parking spot. I exhaled. "C'mon, baby, we can do this." My car's transmission rattled reassuringly. I chunked the car into first gear and began to make my way out of the parking garage.

I would like to take a moment to thank the Walgreens that is only five minutes away from my work. True, they were a terrifying, white-knuckle five minutes, (which takes some doing, remember, I am quite brown, even more so during the summer) but I arrived unscathed.

After purchasing the clutch fluid and putting it into my thirsting vehicle, however, I nearly killed myself by backing out of my parking space into the path of a much larger vehicle.

Had I survived the hypothetical collision, I certainly would have appreciated the irony.

But I made it safely home. Donaldo and Miguel drove me to the airport.

Now I'm here. Still here, rather.

The flight was overbooked, so the airline asked for volunteers to give up their seats and take a later flight.

Flyers that have no real plan in the first place, such as myself, live to take advantage of professional incompetence.

I went up to the attendant stand and I gave them my seat on the 6:30 flight. In exchange, I received a full refund of my ticket cost, a new, free ticket for an 8:30 flight, and a hundred bucks in credit for their airline.

I was immensely pleased. But, I was not done scavenging the inept carcass of Southwest Airlines.

"Excuse me," I asked, "Would it be possible to also get something to eat?"

So now, I'm off to find out if I can use this 12 dollar food voucher for alcohol. I honestly hope not because I am trying to cut down.

Really.

Hmm..."Taberna De Tequila". (That's Spanish for "Taberna Of Tequila".)

I'm sure this place will be fine.

[end of journal entry]