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21 April 2012 @ 10:32 pm
So I'm driving along, going to the home of a client. A client I was not looking forward to meeting 'cause it could either go fair-to-middlin' or bad. There was no fabulous or good. Anyway. I was pulling into the same dirty driveway I pulled into the previous day and went through a small divot-like hole. Not a pot hole or anything like that. Same as the previous day. And there was a terrible noise from the region of my driver's side tire. Figuring my tire a'sploded, I tried to pull a little further into the yard so the cop with me could pull in too. No go, not movin'.
So I curse and grab my work stuff and get out to examine the damage.
Tire is whole. B'roo?
Back tire = fine. Passenger tires, fine. Confused!mouse.

Cop examines and peeks under the car. "That looks like your axel and [something I can't remember] snapped."
Minor freak out.
Establish that the person I'm looking for is not there.
Call my supervisor. Call a wrecker. Call my mom. And wait.
Its amazing how paranoid one can get when waiting for a not-too-happy person to pull in behind you at any time with no method of egress.
Yes, the cop stayed with me. No, not-happy-person did not come home. No, its not the axel, its the ball joint that came out. Yes, my car dislocated its tire/arm. Which is weird to think of.

And my car now has a name. Tori. Because she's a Crown Victoria. And I didn't know I was attached to my car until she broke herself. Or I'm attached to not being forced to buy a new car.
Feelin': anxiousanxious
Tunes: news
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