The Continuing Saga of Me

Last December, right before Christmas, Illinois was slapped with a blizzard in an otherwise mild winter.

There are few things people like to talk about more than weather. An event such as a blizzard will not only raise lengthy, ongoing conversations about the weather, but it will also drag out all the old clichés, adages and proverbs. The most obvious one that kept coming up was "when it rains it pours".

I felt this truth very dearly that December, as I have on numerous occasions in my life. I am one of those people who have bad things happen to them with grim regularity and abundance.

This is not just a personal pity party belief. I have friends and family who have said to me on more than one occasion in reference to the subject at hand "don't do that, your lucks not that good" and they are often correct.

Some may say "you need new friends", wanting to blame them for setting me up for failure. If only it were as simple as that. My friends are only reminding me of a truth I know, but like to pretend is just a phase I'm going through.

If I were to be honest, I'd have to admit that many of these bad experiences are much my own fault. I inadvertently get myself into these situations and cause myself great grief and heartache, or headache, as the situation warrants.

An example of "my fault" is my car. I love my car. It's a 1990 Mazda Miata whom I named Stella.

I have only owned this car for a year and a half, and yet, have had it in to the mechanic and replaced more tires on this one little car, than on any other vehicle I've ever owned.

How is this my fault? I own a 1990 car, and I am not a mechanic. The year is currently 2007. In modern car years, this baby is pretty darn old.

So why do I own this car that is causing me grief? Well, for starters, she's a convertible. Then there is the fact that being 16 years old, she was cheap. But, even more importantly, before last December she got 32 miles to the gallon in combined city and highway driving. For someone who drives over 70 miles a day and is quite vain, it was the perfect car

So looking back at that December, the phrase “rain that pour[ed]”, was more of an emotional and physical event than a meteorological one.

I work at a community college and have worked there for over five years now as well as attending this college for two years. In all that time, it has always taken an act of God to shut the school down. In fact, it wasn't until the local newspaper lambasted the school for endangering students by not closing down when there was a tornado in the area that the board started looking at our weather policies.

It was for this reason that on the morning of the blizzard, I left my house early. I'd showered and dressed as warmly as I thought I'd need to, blown dry my hair, brushed my teeth, and flew out of the house. I reasoned I needed to leave early enough to allow time to uncover my 1990 Mazda Miata that had become practically invisible during the night due to the amount of snow. I also reasoned I'd have to drive very slowly to get to the school 12 miles away.

It was, in fact, not until I got to the school, an hour later, that I realized I didn't have my cell phone with me. I realized this because when I discovered the empty parking lot, I wanted to call someone. My frustration level was somewhat high and I wanted to vent to a sympathetic ear.

So I turned around to drive home. It took me another nerve wracking hour of slipping and sliding through slush that was as high as my car door. I was just getting ready to turn onto the quarter mile bridge that crosses the Des Plaines River to return to my home town. I was almost there and then I felt it. The car started to loose power and died, right at the corner where I'd barely managed to maneuver it off the road.

I choose to sit for a few minutes before trying the engine again. It attempted to turn over, but just wouldn’t catch. I sat in the car for over 30 minutes, the temperature inside now matching the temperature outside. I kept hoping someone would stop to see if I was okay, or at least lend me a cell phone, but no one stopped and the state trooper going the other way never turned around. My only choice was to walk the half mile home.

"No big deal" I thought to myself. "I've walked more than a half mile on any number of occasions." Just never in mid-calf high slush in ankle boots. But my other option was to sit in the car and slowly freeze to death, or so it felt.

I got out of the car to start walking and for the first time, my luck changed that day. A man going the other way, saw what I was about to do and offered me ride back to my house. I gratefully accepted.

My little saga was not yet finished however. When I got home I saw that I had a missed call on both my home phone and cell phone, received early that morning, probably while I was showering and blow-drying, saying the school was closed and I didn't have to come in.

I pulled out the phone book to look up tow companies. After several calls I actually found one that would be able to come out within the hour. I called a friend to come pick me up and take me back to the stranded Mazda. When we got there, the police had finally arrived. They had even called a tow service and the officer graciously decided not to give me a ticket for abandoning my vehicle. I called my service back and requested them not to come. We managed to get the car home and back in the driveway.

The next day, the car still wouldn't start. We attempted many not so mechanical things including blow-drying the engine. Eventually we agreed it would have to be towed to the mechanic. Once there, they were able to find out what the problem was. Turns out that the hose that is supposed to be attached to the fuel vapor canister had been hanging down, and as I drove my little car through the slush, the little hose vacuumed up the slush and road debris until my engine was running on sludge. Not a recommended form of alternative fuel.

The mechanic flushed three gallons of water out of the gas tank alone, not to mention the water that was in the engine, the oil and other places it didn't belong. They had to flush my engine twice and my gas gauge no longer works as a result, but amazingly enough my car still runs. The entire event cost me just over $600 right before Christmas. Thank God for credit cards.

You can see why I would claim that this is my fault. I own an old car in less than perfect repair. I didn't call anyone before leaving the house to double check the condition of the school. I didn't have my cell phone with me.

This was an entirely preventable situation. Or was it? Did the universe conspire on that day to bring all of these facts into one glorious snafu? Or was my life a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off?

I'm inclined to believe the "fate conspiring against me" gambit simply because the ticking time bomb theory sounds like I'm trying to self destruct my life, which I'm not.

These sorts of cluster events happen to me on a regular basis. So regular in fact that my mother said to me not long ago "I don't know what message God is trying to give you, but you must not be getting it." Needless to say I had to retort with "If He wants me to get a message, then why can't he send it in a memo? I'm not very good at this divining meaning thing!"

Apparently neither are a lot of people. I know I'm not the only one who experiences cluster events like this. If I was, there wouldn't be a clichéd saying for it. Bad events always seem to group together. Maybe it's the earth’s gravitational pull at certain seasons, or maybe it's a higher power testing our reliance. That's one of the reasons that "when it rains it pours" has become synonymous with a cluster of bad events.