Jeff and I gave my car a jump from his in Jersey City at 7:15. My car had a bad alternator, so the battery wasn’t recharging from the engine like it should. The engine worked fine, but only so long as there was enough power in the battery, which had its only recharging source from Jeff’s battery. I was trying to drive it to Bernie, my mechanic in Millburn. I gunned the engine as soon as I could; it wouldn’t recharge the engine, but I was driving a car with only so many minutes of juice, and I could go fast in that time or I could go slow. Jeff was following, to give me a ride back and to give jumps if I stall. I went as fast as I can, but thanks to the traffic lights in Jersey City, I needed to be jumped twice with either Jeff or I pulled over on the sidewalk.
This was just after sunset, so the battery was getting sucked by the headlights. I had the radio off, but the damn automatic shoulder belt kept sliding up and down whenever I opened the door, wasting energy I didn’t have. Jeff had suggested driving without lights, which I figured was a little too risky to try. But I knew the road I was facing ahead: a horrible section of paved Jersey City that’s always slow, congested, merging, and not a shoulder or sidewalk in sight. I decided to risk it driving blind.
There was no electricity to spare for the radio, so I had to hum Radar Love as I drove. Dark road in front of me, wind in my face because it costs energy to electrically roll up windows, going as fast as the car in front of me was. I kept a healthy distance, since I was invisible to him. Lucky for me most of New Jersey glows, thanks to endless developments and Manhattan bouncing their lights off of nighttime clouds and back down to us.
I made it through Jersey City, the on ramp to 280, and most of my 280 distance before my engine conked out. I rolled to the shoulder, and Jeff did a neat tuck of his car in front of mine.
With a brief roll in neutral, my car was able to be within alligator clips of his. The fourth charging began. Jeff’s trunk stuck out a foot or two into the right hand lane, but both our hazards were on, so it was the safest way to do something incredibly stupid.
Not safe enough. After several whizzing honks, two cars came to screeching halts in front of us. One was in the shoulder, a safe distance away. The other swerved to his right, turning ninety degrees and hurtling toward us broadside. It braked a few seconds before it would have hit either the curb or us. Yikes.
Almost causing a pile up was enough inspiration to get us the hell off busy roads. We yanked the clips off the batteries and tried moving off the highway where we could have an uninterrupted charge. My car didn’t have enough voltage to start. So Jeff went in his car to get a tow truck, and I stayed in the car. The Wait had begun.
Jeff found a pay phone and got in contact with AAA. To ease confusion of calling for someone else, he said that Jeff Ryan had broken down (he called with his AAA ID, after all) and was waiting by the car. He wasn’t sure of the make of my car, but it was a gray sedan between exits 10 and 11 on 280, and the first three letters of the license plate were JJJ.
Jeff drove back and told me the tow was on its way. We were hoping to visit a comic store called Time Warp after hitting Bernie’s, and I was afraid we’d miss the 10:00 p.m. closing while waiting for the tow. So Jeff tried to make it to Time Warp in his car, and then meet me at Bernie’s.
After Jeff left, I saw a tow truck driver come down the ramp. He slowed down passing me. Later I would learn that the driver saw the license plate matched up at the exact location I was reported at, but it wasn’t the make he was looking for, so he figured the car he was looking for had magically fixed itself and left. So he left.
Here’s where it turns into a Shakespearean comedy. On the way to Time Warp, Jeff’s car also broke down. The starter conked out. He called AAA, saying ‘Jeff’ has broken down again in another car. The dispatcher said that the first car “was taken care of,” which would normally indicate that it had indeed been towed.
I was tempted to leave the car after an hour or two, but I was in Orange, where car stealing is an Olympic sport. Plus, the tow truck was bound to be here any second. He was just busy, that’s all. I continued waiting.
Jeff called Dad to arrange for a ride home and to borrow the spare minivan he has. Dad met his girlfriend Jan at Bernie’s, dropped off the minivan, and went in her car to where Jeff broke down.
I got my seat back all the way, laid down, and try to relax. Every other minute I popped my eyes open, thinking I heard the tow truck pull up to me. Never anything.
The tow arrived for Jeff. Dad, hearing that several hours had passed and I’m still not at Bernie’s, called AAA, saying he’s ‘Sean’ Ryan, and he still hasn’t been towed. He and Jan drove off to find me. Jeff reached Bernie’s without incident.
The Wait for me entered hour three. The hazards had completely drained the battery: they slowed their blinking like a fish gasping out of water. I don’t have a cell phone, so I left the car, ran up an on ramp with no sidewalk during a traffic lull, and unbelievably found a working pay phone in the middle of Orange.
About this time Jeff wandered off into the woods to take a leak. He found a small stream to pee into, filled with ducks, duck offal, and duck feathers. This will become relevant later.
AAA put me on hold several minutes, and then the lying begins. “Hello, this is ‘Jeff’ Ryan, I’ve been waiting three hours for a tow.” I’m determined to stick with being ‘Jeff’, just so things go easier. I had no idea of the other tows or calls.
What the AAA guy had to work with was this. ‘Jeff’ Ryan broke down and called himself in for a tow several hours ago. Then Jeff Ryan called again, for towing a second car. Both were ‘taken care of’ on the records. Then ‘Sean’ Ryan called, asking where the hell his tow was. Then ‘Jeff’ called a third time, asking for the same tow. ‘Jeff’ was somehow still in the same spot he was three hours ago, despite two successful tows and weird appearances from this ‘Sean’ person.
He repeatedly asked me to make sure I was ‘Jeff’, and I always said I was. The truth would just add another layer of confusion, and I went into the call just knowing the initial story Jeff gave.
After close to half an hour on the phone, I cut the Gordian knot on figuring out what happened, and just said I had been waiting three hours for a tow, never mind who I was. The tow truck driver said it would take at least a couple of hours to get there, since he had another customer going to Kingston. But after repeating that I already had been waiting three hours, he said he’d be there soon.
I went back to my car, and pretty soon Dad pulled up in Jan’s car. He was glad he finally found me, after hours of being lost while not moving an inch. Five minutes later, the tow truck finally arrived, the same guy who blew by me before. He loaded the car on the flatbed, straightened it out, and I rode to Bernie's with him.
At this point another tow truck pulled in where Jeff was waiting. This car was towed because the brakes had locked. This particular tow truck wasn’t a flatbed, so the driver could just lift one axle and have the car roll on the other axle. He chose the rear axle to lift. The front axle, pulling into the parking lot, was ON FIRE. The brake pads had melted to the wheel, and the wheels’ revolutions frayed away at the brake cables and ignited the brake fluid. The tow truck driver tried a strategy of rapid cursing to put it out. It didn’t work and continued smoldering.
Jeff dug in his car and found a wool blanket to smother it. Upon further inspection, it was a polyester blanket, which was quickly put far far away from the fire. Jeff then found a waste paper basket in his car and ran to the peed-in stream. He filled the basket, with one foot going in the water. The driver took the basket like a gift from the gods and splashed it on.
I was in the cab of my car’s tow. We were taking a roundabout route to get to the Bernie’s. A red light comes on, and the driver slammed the brakes. A horrible crunching and shattering noise followed. There wasn’t a car in front of us, so we didn’t rear end that. Was it the car behind us? I turned around and see, naturally, that it was MY CAR. He hadn’t attached the chain properly to the rear axle, so when he braked the car flew forward like a pizza on the passenger’s seat. If it wasn’t for the safety bar on the truck, we’d have both been decapitated.
I got out and checked the damage. Both headlights were smashed. The hood was buckled. The grill was half gone. The front license plate was completely gone (where, I don’t know). To guarantee internal injuries, it was leaking antifreeze, possibly other fluids. The driver was trying the same rapid swearing technique to fix these damages that his compatriot used to put out the fire.
Then I realized where I was. I was right in South Orange, my hometown for a dozen years. From the cab’s height it looked different. I guess most accidents do take place close to home.
We finally pulled into Bernie’s, my car dripping like a wet umbrella. I was just getting dropped off; my car was going back to the tow place, which also did body work. The driver had to pay for the damages, which will probably outweigh the current value of the car.
There was still a little fire left in the brakes, so Jeff ran to the stream again for another basketful. His right swampfoot was much darker than his left, and reeked from duck byproduct.
At midnight, Jeff and I said goodbye to Dad and Jan, and finally got to leave in the minivan. We never did get to go to Time Warp. If tendencies hold, the minivan is due to be hit by a giant boulder or a falling safe today. These things always happen in threes.
Jeff’s right shoe is currently on the radiator drying. The right sock picked up its weight in duck feathers and offal. My car is currently getting fixed, how I don’t know. So long as it’s fixed and I’m not paying for it, I’m fine. The minivan is cowering like a red shirted ensign going down to a planet with Kirk and Spock.
All I’ve learned from this is that tow truck drivers are dumb as a bag of sawdust.