Made in America

I love being back in Texas, but I miss Germany an awful lot. And the reasons are completely antiparallel. I miss hearing German all the time but it's great to hear English all the time. I miss the snow but I'm glad there isn't any snow. And I miss walking all the time, but I like not having to walk all the time.

Yep, it's pretty great to have a car. It's especially great if you're feeling a bit sick or ornery. Just get in and go, and you get there fast. Totally awesome as long as you don't suffer from car trouble.

Especially if you're in the middle of something really important. Like, say, a road in downtown Houston during rush hour.

I was on my way to pick up Yandee from work and had just figured out up from down in that perplexing, tantalizing labyrinth of one-way streets when the gas pedal just gave out from under me and the car felt like it had stopped breathing. Those of you who have ever run out of gas en route will know what I mean. You will also know the feeling that comes after it: a panic to find a safe and VERY close place to put your hungry baby, simultaneous with immense shame at being too cheap to top up at that one place that was three cents too expensive.

I was in the MIDDLE of the street, and completely unable to go anywhere but forward without running anyone over. The car totally gave out with the nose halfway into the intersection. Everyone was honking at me, and the pedestrians were glaring at me like I was in a Bill Murray movie. Sorry guys, I promise I normally pick better spots to BREAK THE FUCK DOWN DO YOU SEE MY HAZARD LIGHTS ON YOU ASS?? I'd rolled down the windows to get some air, and one woman shouted at me helpfully from the sidewalk, "Are you out of gas?" "Yeah, sorry!" I shouted back. She nodded sagely and sat back down at the bus stop.

Eventually a cop rolled up to direct traffic around me, call up a tow truck, and most excellently, add to the light show. I probably would've thought this was cool, but I was too busy feeling like a jerk for running out of gas. The tow truck showed up pretty quick and had to park in the freaking middle of the intersection to engage my beached whale.

He ferried us over to a nearby parking lot to wait for Yandee, and also to switch from grabbing my car's front wheels to the back ones, since it's a rear-wheel drive. I was trying to decide whether it really was just the gas or whether some more sinister force was ruining my bank account, so I tried to turn the car on again - and it dumped about a Coke's worth of gas on the pavement. The check engine light was also on. My car had officially diagnosed itself with inner demons.

Yandee called her dad, who lives in North Houston and Knows about Cars, and he said have the tow truck bring it up there. On the way up I tried to console myself that even though I was probably going to have to pay for more than a tow and gas (namely, a tow, an exorcism, AND the gas my car just sharted in the parking lot), I at least could no longer fault myself.

We got to Yandee's parents' house without event. Her dad checked out the gas lines and found that the clip on the "in" line was loose - the last person to touch it, who was almost certainly the manufacturer more than six years ago, had put the clip on upside down, and over the years it had vibrated loose. He showed me exactly what was up and it was badass. We talked about engine oil for a while and bonded.

Yandee and I drove back to the apartment later, my car's demons in remission, not gone forever but dormant.