Bad luck, goodwill and car karma

There are a lot of everyday issues that the average woman has to deal with on an ongoing basis. However, there is a point where we draw a line in the sand.

I think I speak for many women when I say dealing with a vehicle that has problems is the line in the sand we will not cross. In other words, we would rather promote a rumor that says we have given birth to a child by Ray Lewis of the Baltimore Ravens and that child is being raised in a monastery in Nepal.

We would rather watch NASCAR 24/7, drink beer and be married to a guy named Psycho Bubba whose sole ambition is to talk baby talk to his seven pit bulls, than deal with a disabled vehicle.

You see, a woman’s idea of a car, or at least my idea, is that you put the key in the ignition, the car starts and runs, and then you remove the key from the ignition and the car stops. Is this a great country or what?

Everything that happens in between as it relates to that vehicle is not in my universe. I’m sure that most women, when it comes to car problems (unless of course you are the type of woman who is so tough your knuckles drag on the ground), would simply be rational enough to assess the situation, then run screaming into traffic, like some magnetic field is pulling them into a complete state of madness. And that’s just if there is a random noise coming from underneath the car. A major problem such as a flat tire means that the Earth has stopped rotating on its axis and will crash and burn within seconds.

I bring this up in an effort to educate my readers, as I recently found myself in this predicament while driving into New York City. Right before entering the Holland Tunnel, the tire went, no doubt courtesy of the construction nails scattered all over the road thanks to the wonderful nonstop projects by the various Departments of Transportation.

Now I am backed up with cars to the left of me, cars to the right of me, cabs behind me and semi-trucks in front of me. My car is listing like an Italian cruise ship grounded off the coast of Italy. I manage to limp to the side of the road and into the arms of a Port Authority Police officer. And you are going to be very surprised at the reactions from the mob of people all around me in vehicles, themselves trying to wade through this mess to get into New York City.

They must have had some Delaware blood in them. At least a dozen drivers rolled down their windows and offered to help.  Not one horn blasted the tie-up; not one person cursed me out, and just about everyone gave me a thumbs-up or wished me luck. Is this a great country or what?

You’ll have to overlook my preaching here, but this is what the politicians in our Washington government don’t understand. This goodwill and courtesy is not something you can legislate. We are a country of people who are decent, do the right thing, and help their fellow citizens. It’s what we were born into, and we don’t need regulations, paperwork, forms or any government booklet to tell us what is the right thing to do.

The Port Authority Police officer called for a tow truck after the car jack broke, and he called a car service to get me to my hotel. We both coped with another driver who pulled over and after finding out she had to drive through a tunnel to get into NYC, burst into tears because she is claustrophobic. 

We struggle with everyday problems, find solutions and reach out to one another. Washington and the media could take a lesson, because as ordinary citizens, we still feel this is a great country. My car, not so much.