Well that was fun (not so much)

Last week I had the BMW serviced. At 60K miles, it's a big service. The we're-going-to-need-to-keep-the-car-overnight service. The-we're-going-to-have-the-doctor-perform-a-cavity-search-to-look-for-other-problems (and find them) service. You should be getting the impression that it cost a lot of money. It did.

For brevity's sake I'm going to skip the part where the receptionist argues with me about my non-discounted bill.

The day after I picked up the car my coolant light went on. This is not good. Big service. Replaced hoses. Replaced fluids. Replaced brakes. Car should be perfect now, right?

Yeah.

So I call and say "WTF?" They say, oh, how strange. Please come in today. Here is a loaner car. Be happy. We love you. This time we really will give you a discount.

Get the car back the next day (Thursday night). Friday the coolant light goes on again. I know there is coolant in there. I remember them saying, oh it was just an air bubble, no big deal but it upset the sensor. I assume the same thing is happening and that the car is safe to drive. Idiot.

Saturday, I load up three girls (one is a loaner) and my dog and drive to Colusa. Right before we arrive my "check brake lights" light goes on. I just replaced those brakes. Grrr.

Sunday we drive home. Everything is fine until we get to the Bay Bridge. There is a queue and we are in it. I see steam beginning to rise from my engine. Oh god. I'm going to be that person. The one who totally screws up bridge traffic with her car problems. I watch as the temperature gage starts to shift to the right (wrong direction). By the time we get to the toll booth we are in full-blown trouble. I tell the toll-taker, who is wearing rubber gloves and a surgeon's mask by the way, that I have to pull over now. Where do I go? She says, somewhat unhelpfully "there are two medians, one on the left and one on the right." This felt about as helpful as the Caterpillar's "one side will make you grow taller and the other side will make you grow shorter." I go left.

To nothing.

All I can see are a thousand of lanes of cars flying towards the Bay Bridge of Doom. Finally, I stop at the last possible place - the gravel area in between what feels like 20 lanes of traffic.

For the first time I am happy to see the CHP officer who tells me that someone from CalTrans will come and help me for free. Please stay in the car with our seat belts on (in case someone accidentally flies into us). The girls are full of questions. What is happening? Are we in danger? Who is CalTrans? The dog is shaking like a leaf. I don't know why but he keeps trying to crawl into my lap. I explain about how car engines are hot and need to be made cool. I stroke the dog's ear and insist he stay on his side of the car.

CalTrans arrives in the big orange truck. There is much rejoicing.

I swear to you that the CalTrans guy was once an extra on the Sopranos. 55 years old. Wife-beater t-shirt under the orange jumpsuit. Lots and lots of visible chest hair. White helmet that he places carefully on his head as I watch. Big gold chain with gold amulets on it. If he falls into the Bay it will surely drag him under. This is my savior.

He pours water into my radiator for minutes and says "this should be enough to get you home." I am hopeful that it will.

Of course it is not.

Over the bridge and through the woods to grandmother's house -- straight into downtown traffic. 101 is completely stopped and I know that I am done for. There is no way we will survive stop-and-go traffic. I get off at 5th street to cut across to 280. At the 5th street traffic light we get the big steam dump from the hood. There is no way this car is getting us home. Expletive deleted here.

I pull over on 6th and Bryant. Not a great neighborhood on a deserted Sunday evening, but it could be worse. Water is pouring out from under the car. I have a leak. I call AAA. The woman on the phone is named Karen. "Hi Karen, this is Karen. I'm stranded with three kids and a dog, please send help." She does.

I call Fred, father of the loaner child and very good friend (who, from now on will be known to all as "Saint Fred The Goodness"). He is on his way to rescue us. In the car, the girls write messages seeking help on the steamy back window. When the steam is gone that is going to be one giant smear. But they are being so cool and calm about the whole thing that I can't complain. Juju gives me a big smile and pets me. "Little girls don't do this," she says. "Big girls do this." She says this about everything. Yes, sweetie pie, you are big girl.

The AAA guy shows up before Saint Fred the Goodness does. His name is Paul and he is very nice. He is worried that he cannot fit us, and all our stuff, into his truck. Especially because he has just purchased the cutest giant singing Santa Claus for $9 and it is taking up most of the front seat. There is no back seat. I explain to him that my friend is coming and I would really appreciate it if he did not leave me alone on the street with three kids and a dog. He agrees that this would not be good and begins the world's longest hitching process. I love you Paul.

I call BMW. They start to say things like "we close at 6pm so you should make sure the tow truck is here before the gate is closed" which is entirely the wrong approach. In front of the children I have to use nice language, like you guys have totally messed this up and this is the second time today that I've been stranded. I would really appreciate it if someone could hang around a little while for the tow truck to arrive. My words are nice but my tone is not. They get the picture.  Another Paul, this time the BMW sales manager, agrees to stay late. He has no idea what a good idea that was. Well maybe he has some idea.

Saint Fred The Goodness arrives and we make the transfer to his van. He drives us home and helps me unload our stuff. 

Alone, I crack open a nice bottle of red wine for a much-needed glass. We will be eating pizza tonight.

Tomorrow I will have to kick the shit out of BMW. Of course, the real Peter Pan would not have screwed things up so royaly. Or at least not past the point where Tinkerbell couldn't save him. (Cue J.M. Barrie, turning in grave.)

It's almost time to put the kids to bed  - and me too. That's enough excitement for one day.