A couple years ago, I had some trouble with my car. By 'trouble', I mean it wouldn't start. The AAA guy came out (if anyone has gotten their money's worth from AAA, it's me), re-charged my battery, and told me that I needed to get a new one ASAP because this one was on its last legs.
Which was super awesome news, because I was driving to Minnesota the next day. Which, from central Illinois, can be anywhere from an 8-hour trip with no traffic to a 12-hour trip when there is construction and traffic...and lunch in Madison with Becky :). So I made the decision that I would try to drive to MN, and get a battery there.
The car survived the trip up. My mom at the time lived in one of the worst cities ever, Wayzata. Wayzata is a fairly wealthy town, with a lake, yachts, mansions, and a very cute downtown with very cute little shops and very cute little restaurants. I say it's one of the worst cities because, as my brother so eloquently put it..."They're all a bunch of rich fucks."* My mom happened to work there, and so got an apartment in town. An apartment that she paid far too much for, that had constant problems, like the ceiling caving in from busted pipes that went unfixed for months on end. Ok, I'm not a fan. But I digress.
I took my car to the local auto-body shop, where they over-charged me for the battery, and then because they had to take out my washer fluid thingy, they charged me an arm and a leg for the labor. But I got my battery, and I was good to go.
So I thought.
Fast forward maybe 6 months. I went to my car...and the battery's dead. Crap. I called AAA, and they sent a guy over. He was very, very nice, and rather dreamy. By dreamy, I mean he had long hair and a Metallica t-shirt. He re-charged my battery (oh baby) and left. After letting my car run for 30 minutes or so, I turned it off and went back inside. About 10 minutes later I decided to go run some errands, so I went back to my car...and it didn't turn on. Super crap. I called AAA again. They sent the same guy over, who waved and grinned at me from his tow truck. He got out, and said, "you just wanted to see me again!" to which I smiled and shook my head. He tried re-charging my battery again, but it just wouldn't hold a charge. He thought it was the alternator**and towed my car to a nearby Meineke (which he recommended). As we were riding to the Meineke, we were chatting, and then he remembered something.
"Oh shoot, I was supposed to identify myself when I came over. 'Howdy, my name is Sam Rose and I'm from Tatman's Towing' and I'm here to tow your car."
"I kind of figured from the 'Tatman's Towing' truck."
So...I realize that that wasn't the most 'romantic' conversation I've ever had with a total stranger (that honor may have gone to the ex-con on the bus who felt up my calves), but I've been smitten with him since that day. Every time I need my car jumped I REALLY hope it's him. It hasn't been. And yes, Tjett is very well aware of my infatuation with Sam Rose, the tow truck guy.
Oh, and the problem with my car was that the fancy-schmancy mechanic in Wayzata who replaced my battery simply finger-tightened the leads, and they had come loose. Wanna know how much I was charged for the guys at Meineke to take out my washer-fluid thingy, figure out what was wrong with my battery and fix it?
Nada.
*Yes, I realize that not all people from Wayzata are jerks, and not all rich people are jerks. In fact, I rather hope to be one of them someday. But you must admit, there is a difference between a family having money and living in a nice home...and pretentious, blatant, overt displays of "wealth and status."
**I'm convinced that all men who are not mechanics really have no idea what is ever wrong with cars, and they use "it's the alternator" on every occasion just to sound manly.
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