16 January 2006
The Car Chronicles (or: A Weekend Runs Through It)
On Thursday night, as Joe was driving home from band practice, he was pulled over and issued a warning because the driver’s side headlight burnt out. We were given 72 hours to replace the bulb and go to the police station so they’d cancel the ticket. During this ordeal, Joe couldn’t find the ownership of the car, something he mentioned to me when he came back home.
We got the car from my parents, so on Friday, I emailed dad to see if he had the ownership papers. He didn’t and suggested that I come home on Saturday morning to go to the local DMV and get everything sorted out.
My dad and I, we’re very alike, and by 5:00pm on Friday, we were both really concerned (or in my case: freaked out) about this missing ownership business. What if I got penalized for driving without ownership? What if I had to get the car safety-d again? How much would that cost?
Throughout many panicky tirades of that evening, I had a number of unkind words for the gov’t who never cease to complicate matters with multiple forms to fill out and ever-changing titles (ownership? registration? Come on!)
Joe kept his cool and we dug around the car on Friday night. The ownership was in the car, only it was in the back seat under a pile of directions to Picton.
By the time we finally found the ownership, I was emotionally exhausted. It had been a brutal week at work (hence the entirely overblown emotional reaction to a manageable situation) and I wasn’t up to going to the band’s show. Joe went ahead and I met SJG for dessert as planned.
When I returned from a great chat with SJG, I pictured the exact shade of brown that I wanted to dye my hair. The colour of milk chocolate…gorgeous! And it absolutely couldn’t wait. Knowing that I was likely to be pulled over again, I drove to the nearest drugstore, only to find it closed. Damnation!
When I get an idea in my head, I’m single-mindedly stubborn, so I drove 15 minutes to the drugstore near Oma’s and was pulled over in the parking lot. Bloody 'ell! Good thing the ownership was in the car. After being advised to replace our extremely faded license plates, I was able to get to my fluorescent-lit oasis, only to find that none of the hair dye lived up to my chocolatey standards. I bought a pack of cough drops and drove home.
On Saturday morning I was too annoyed to sleep in, so I drove to Canadian Tire and got the damn bulb replaced. The rest of the day was fabu: brunch with PofL, the Chronicles of Narnia with Joe at night, and long periods of relaxation in between. We bought birthday presents for Joe’s mom and sister and were looking forward to seeing them at 1pm the next day.
The deal Joe and I made was this: I would get the bulb replaced and Joe would take the car to the police station to cancel the ticket. True to his word, Joe left early on Sunday, without breakfast, and went to the police station.
On his way back, he went to Sugar Mountain to return the mug that contains chemicals known in the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects. The store was closed (it was 10am) so he went back to the car and realized that his keys were locked in it. He called me to come and get him so I got out of bed, brushed my teeth and called a cab. Blueline said they’d be right there so I waited on the porch.
It was one of those clear, crisp, blue sky winter days. The kind where your nostrils freeze together within seconds of leaving the front door.
Cold.
After 20 minutes I called blueline again and 10 minutes later a cab showed up. By the time I got to Joe, I could have walked there. Heck, we could probably have been back home by then! Joe was standing on the sidewalk with no mittens, no hat and a tepid decaf coffee doing an excellent impression of the saddest human icicle in history.
So finally, at 11am we got back home. We showered, breakfasted, wrapped gifts and motored out of Ottawa (with Stuart MacLean to keep us company down the 417). We were only half an hour late and had a grand time at Joe’s mom’s. There was warmth, laughter, terrific food and fantastic company.
The End.
If I take away anything from this long and trying lesson, it is this: always order Strawberry Rhubarb pie over Chocolate Oblivion cake. Restaurant cake just isn’t as good as homemade.
We got the car from my parents, so on Friday, I emailed dad to see if he had the ownership papers. He didn’t and suggested that I come home on Saturday morning to go to the local DMV and get everything sorted out.
My dad and I, we’re very alike, and by 5:00pm on Friday, we were both really concerned (or in my case: freaked out) about this missing ownership business. What if I got penalized for driving without ownership? What if I had to get the car safety-d again? How much would that cost?
Throughout many panicky tirades of that evening, I had a number of unkind words for the gov’t who never cease to complicate matters with multiple forms to fill out and ever-changing titles (ownership? registration? Come on!)
Joe kept his cool and we dug around the car on Friday night. The ownership was in the car, only it was in the back seat under a pile of directions to Picton.
By the time we finally found the ownership, I was emotionally exhausted. It had been a brutal week at work (hence the entirely overblown emotional reaction to a manageable situation) and I wasn’t up to going to the band’s show. Joe went ahead and I met SJG for dessert as planned.
When I returned from a great chat with SJG, I pictured the exact shade of brown that I wanted to dye my hair. The colour of milk chocolate…gorgeous! And it absolutely couldn’t wait. Knowing that I was likely to be pulled over again, I drove to the nearest drugstore, only to find it closed. Damnation!
When I get an idea in my head, I’m single-mindedly stubborn, so I drove 15 minutes to the drugstore near Oma’s and was pulled over in the parking lot. Bloody 'ell! Good thing the ownership was in the car. After being advised to replace our extremely faded license plates, I was able to get to my fluorescent-lit oasis, only to find that none of the hair dye lived up to my chocolatey standards. I bought a pack of cough drops and drove home.
On Saturday morning I was too annoyed to sleep in, so I drove to Canadian Tire and got the damn bulb replaced. The rest of the day was fabu: brunch with PofL, the Chronicles of Narnia with Joe at night, and long periods of relaxation in between. We bought birthday presents for Joe’s mom and sister and were looking forward to seeing them at 1pm the next day.
The deal Joe and I made was this: I would get the bulb replaced and Joe would take the car to the police station to cancel the ticket. True to his word, Joe left early on Sunday, without breakfast, and went to the police station.
On his way back, he went to Sugar Mountain to return the mug that contains chemicals known in the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects. The store was closed (it was 10am) so he went back to the car and realized that his keys were locked in it. He called me to come and get him so I got out of bed, brushed my teeth and called a cab. Blueline said they’d be right there so I waited on the porch.
It was one of those clear, crisp, blue sky winter days. The kind where your nostrils freeze together within seconds of leaving the front door.
Cold.
After 20 minutes I called blueline again and 10 minutes later a cab showed up. By the time I got to Joe, I could have walked there. Heck, we could probably have been back home by then! Joe was standing on the sidewalk with no mittens, no hat and a tepid decaf coffee doing an excellent impression of the saddest human icicle in history.
So finally, at 11am we got back home. We showered, breakfasted, wrapped gifts and motored out of Ottawa (with Stuart MacLean to keep us company down the 417). We were only half an hour late and had a grand time at Joe’s mom’s. There was warmth, laughter, terrific food and fantastic company.
The End.
If I take away anything from this long and trying lesson, it is this: always order Strawberry Rhubarb pie over Chocolate Oblivion cake. Restaurant cake just isn’t as good as homemade.
