Calamity Laura
Sometimes It's Just Bum Luck
I am stranded in Carrboro, North Carolina.
In this moment, I still love Carrboro, but I hate my car.
Here’s why. Yesterday I was driving along when seven warning lights lit up my dashboard. Check engine, check transmission, check AT oil temperature, check ABS, check some other systems that I don’t remember exactly but all sounded critically important to the operation of a vehicle. I made an appointment at the local repair shop and they told me that what was wrong with the car was too major for them to fix. I probably needed a new transmission, and I should take the car to a Subaru dealership. The nearest one couldn’t see me until the week after next. After searching, I found another in Raleigh, 30 miles away, who could take the car in two days.
Over the phone, I asked the guy at the dealership if the car was safe to drive 30 miles.
“Um, possibly?” he said. “I don’t think anything bad would happen to you. But I can’t make any guarantees.”
I called Triple A, and they will tow it to Raleigh today. In the meantime, I am stranded with Charlie, unable to make myself useful to my daughter (the reason I’m here in the first place) and feeling sorry for myself and my plight.
What happens when things go wrong like this? You look for someone/something to blame. I blamed myself for a while, then got tired of that and blamed Subaru and the crappy car I bought that has never felt right. Then I started thinking about how this catastrophe might have happened a day before, on I-95, when I was in the car with my daughter. Then I start thinking I could be stuck off the interstate in a crummy hotel, or worse, caused an accident, or worse, a multi-vehicle accident. People could be dead, so I have a lot of nerve, whining in my air-conditioned townhouse watching Netflix and HAVING TO BE PATIENT.
I guess I’m always striving, after an unexpected calamity, to regain my equilibrium by imagining how things could be worse. It’s a way to make a problem tolerable. But then, I’m thinking it is okay to just acknowledge shit luck.
Still. I’m not on a deserted island with only rain water and mollusks to eat. I know and love this town, and my daughter’s here. I’m healthy. I have my dog, a decent book to read, and a pizza in the freezer.
I’m following the steps. Misfortune, rail at fate, seek a remedy. Regain footing. Walk the dog, pre-heat the oven to 425, and wait for the universe to sort itself out.