wal-mart adventures

So apparently, it doesn't matter what continent I'm on; it's just not safe for Mercy Ships people to be in cars when I'm involved. This time, thankfully, no other cars were involved either.

A group of us decided to go out for dinner last night. We sat around and enjoyed our burgers and steaks and then we got into our cars and headed home. Myself and a British friend, Colin, were riding with Heather, who just got back from the ship a couple nights ago. We stopped at Wal-Mart where I made a fatal decision. Hey guys, I'm kind of tired. I'll just stay in the car and wait for you. I snuggled in to wait, and in the space of one pitiful country song, the car battery died a quiet, and apparently final, death. Which is when I started to panic.

I ran around the parking lot, interviewing everyone I came across, begging for jumper cables; the security guard looked at me like I was crazy for even asking. When I finally coerced the gas station attendant to lend me his, he informed me that our car was too far away from his to consider using it for power. This may or may not have been because our car was, by this point, sitting near the bottom of an incline in the parking lot, nowhere close to a parking spot. That may or may not have been the result of a wild attempt at push-starting said car. I'm not committing to anything either way.

A young kid and his girlfriend pulled up in their brand-new car, looking concerned and offering to help. We hooked up the cables and turned the key. Click click nothing. We tried again. Click click nothing. The kid jumped in and gave it a shot. He actually revved it up enough to get the juice to roll down the window so we could communicate without having the door open, but the engine stubbornly refused to start.

Eventually the kid climbed into his car and drove off into the freezing night, apologizing for being unable to help. We borrowed a hammer, Colin hit a few things in the engine, trying to coax what we figured was an angry solenoid into cooperation, we prayed and I hopped into the driver's seat to give it one last shot. I stuck my hand out the open window and asked Colin for the keys. With a slow-dawning wash of horror, we realized that the kid was driving down Route 20 with our keys in his pocket.

So there we were, stuck in a Wal-Mart parking lot with a dead battery, a rolled-down window and no keys. My favourite part? No one got angry. No one got frustrated. We just kept looking at each other and laughing, because, seriously? Was this really happening? Were we really sitting in a car at eleven-thirty at night, freezing air blowing through the open window? Was the AAA lady really laughing at me on the phone because we had no keys? Did the tow truck man really just tell me that you're done for if you break down after ten at night in East Texas?

To make a long story a little shorter, Heather's mom finally found the spare key, drove it over to us, and we were able to jump the car from her much-larger truck. Rolling that window up was one of the best feelings I can remember recently, and the heated seats in Heather's car? Best thing ever, once there was power to supply them.

Moral of that story? If you work with Mercy Ships and I get into your car, be prepared for the worst. You can't say I didn't warn you.