I decided to pull over and see if anything was awry, and signaled my intention to Linda (who was leading our little convoy, she having driven her Miata out for a little midlife motoring). She misunderstood, unfortunately. She thought I was signaling and flashing her to tell her to pass the slowpoke in front of her, and/or to signal I was going to get some water.
Now, (1) I am not one to push for passing cars--that's her job, not mine; and (2) there was no spring water source within miles of where I pulled over. Sigh.
As she sped out of sight, I got out of my car and looked carefully at my tires and worried that one looked a little low. Thinking perhaps I should have the emergency guys come out and give it a look, I pulled out my trusty cell phone and--viola!--there was no signal. Not even a fraction of a bar.
So, I was stranded, basically, both by my partner and my cellular "service provider." Admittedly, this was in the Hilltowns, where cell coverage is a sometime thing, but it was also miles to the nearest town and I while I hoped that Linda would turn around once she noticed we were nowhere near her, I also knew she was probably too deeply in her motoring mode to care.
I was right.
With my options looking pretty bleak, I decided to try to drive to the next town, to see if (1) I could get cell reception and (2) if the tire looked any different/worse. I got to Huntington and the tire looked the same, so I decided to keep going, and hoping that if a tire did blow it would have the good graces to do it somewhere with cell reception. And a shoulder. (You don't realize how few roads actually have shoulders until the prospect of having to stop on one appears.)
Well, it was a nerve-wracking drive, for every bump made me jump and both dogs were sitting as close as they could to me so they could watch me intently (they can tell when their people are not happy, and I was seriously unhappy). We did, make it home, however, and I quickly dropped my car off at my new mechanic's (I already had an appointment first thing this a.m. for an oil change and to get my brakes looked at, lucky me), and that was that.
Or so I thought. It appears I had some residual anger at my Linda, for blithely driving off without giving us a second thought (worse, making up two lame stories--my wanting her to pass/getting water--to make such driving off okay). If something had happened to my tire/car and I was in a no-cell-zone, I would have had to leave the dogs and walk until I found a phone or got service.
And yes, I would have been cursing my One-and-Only the entire way.
She knew she was in trouble last night, for she suggested my favorite food group, pizza, for dinner--and she never suggests pizza for dinner.
This morning I was short with her, too, which I wasn't proud of but recognized its source. I apologized for being snappish, and said, "I think I'm still mad at you for what could have happened last night."
That, I realize, is just crazy--my mother used to drive me to distraction with her list of "what-could-have-been" tragedies she'd come up with anytime something almost bad happened. "But, Mom, nothing did happen," I'd say. "Yes, but it could have," was her knowing reply, which was almost always followed by a sigh.
She was a world-class sigher, my mother. As, according to Linda, am I.
Yes, indeed, I am my mother's daughter, and not just my saggy ass attests to that fact, apparently. Sigh.
On other fronts, the editor of the Arizona publication liked my story just fine (whew!) and my set during the Saturday night show went well (double whew!). Jennifer was not as lucky, poor duck, for while her material was of its usual top quality, the audience was out of control by the time she got on stage, and she was forced by these circumstances to remind them why they were there. More than once. She describes the scene better than I could, and also discusses the difference between Boston and New York City comics here.
I blame the New York comics who relied entirely too much on crowd work and not enough on original material. While crowd work has its place, certainly, in the wrong hands or overdone it comes across as the comic equivalent of Hamburger Helper. By resorting to this tactic, the comics preceding Jennifer set her up so she was faced with an interactive crowd when nothing she does is interactive. Sigh.
As to the Boston comics, I was very happy to be in the same lineup as Andrea Henry. She has a wonderfully sly sense of humor, and made a joke about Guantanamo and condoms that I have been savoring since Saturday. (You would have had to be there.)
Well, this week is job-hunting week #15 (I think), but also the week I should learn whether the metals people want me full time. If they don't, I think they'll be forcing me into a life of freelancing and comedy.
Things could be worse, I know, but as Plan Bs go, this one does not have me all warm and glow-y inside. (It's the "could haves" raining on my prospective parade, don't you know.)
No comments:
Post a Comment