STUPID AT ANY AGE

This was my first sentence to Mr. X after the worst part of my ordeal that I’m about to tell you about was over: “Now that the David Lynch movie that has been my life for the past two hours is over….,” and then I realized that I couldn’t use my cell phone anymore.

I can understand why my mother’s hair turned white when I was still a teenager. I hitchhiked across the country, often alone; I moved to LA by myself and slept at the houses of whomever invited me over that night, usually having to fend off the advances of whatever guy was around; and I even joined the circus! A whole bunch of smart moves, eh?

So, I often cringe thinking about my younger exploits, and wondering how I could have been so stupid. I have a 147IQ, skipped a grade, and have two college degrees to my credit. I’ve had my own TV show, hosted one or two radio ones, and have been a successful journalist with my own column in several newspapers and websites. So one would think that I’m a whole bunch smarter now than when I was nineteen, wouldn’t they?

But one would be wrong. I just did something so stupid on the East Coast, that I’m afraid that now my hair will turn white! I hate busting myself, but if this can help even one person keep their wits about them in the face of moderate adversity, I feel compelled to tell you what I went through a couple of weeks ago.

Despite Mr. X’s pleading with me to not drive too far alone in my sixteen-year-old Buick LeSabre on the East Coast, that’s exactly what I did. (This was before my hands turned numb, of course. As a matter of fact, it may be why my hands turned numb. And I’m not kidding.)

I went to New York last month to finish cleaning out my house there so that we can finally sell it. But of course it was right smack dab in the middle of the heat wave, and even with all of my air-conditioners going, it was about 90° in the house. Not exactly conducive to doing a lot of manual labor.

So after a couple of days of doing as much as I could, and being very prone to heat stroke, I knew I had to get out of there for a few days. My always kind friend, Lauren, invited me to stay with her family in the Hamptons for a few days, complete with good air-conditioning and cool, beachy night air. So like an idiot, having not driven my New York car in seven weeks, I got on the road. (In my defense, heat makes me not have clear thinking, so I’m sure that played a part in my decision.) I stopped at the very beginning of the due-to-be-under-two-hours trip to have the oil and tires checked, and had them both filled up. I was just praying that my recently fixed air-conditioning in the car was going to be working!

So off I went on my merry way; that was probably the last time I was merry! Perhaps now would be a good time to let you know how I looked on that trip. I didn’t want to waste time, especially in a 90° house, trying to put on make-up, and I certainly didn’t need to put on attractive attire to sit in an old car for two hours. Or so I thought. So let me paint a picture for you.

I was wearing not a stitch of make-up, had no fake tan, and rocked totally frizzy New York hair. Let’s just say Monica in the Bahamas had nothing on me. (That’s a reference to a classic Friends episode, in case you didn’t pick it up.) I was wearing too-brightly colored bicycle shorts, a very old light blue T-shirt that had grease stains all over it, and, absolute ly worst of all, neon green crocs with… are you ready for this…yellow and white striped ankle socks underneath them! (For those of you who know that I am far from the nerd who would ever wear socks under Crocs, {or even usually Crocs themselves,}this is what happened: I got blisters on both feet from working in the shocking heat in New York, so I had to put some cream on them. So, of course I had to put socks on to cover the cream before I put them in shoes. And the Crocs were only because they were the best driving shoes I had with me. But boy, did I learn my lesson!)

So there I was, driving along, happily making calls to set-up people to help me with the house. I was on the phone with my friend Manny, (with an earpiece, of course,) when all of a sudden, we heard this major explosion sound! He even heard it on his end. I got off the phone, and, in shock, pulled off to the shoulder and looked under the carriage of the car, berating myself all the time. I could see nothing wrong, the tires weren’t flat, and so I tried to keep driving. But the sound was so brutal that I pulled over again. Of course, it had just begun to rain.

At first I again saw nothing wrong, and then, like a close-up out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie, (scary music included in my mind,) I noticed the culprit; the treaded rubber had completely separated from my left front tire! That’s what was making the noise. I wished I could be I Dream of Jeannie at that point, or Samantha on Bewitched, and just twitch any part of me and be someplace else. I was seriously scared out of my wits. I had to keep telling myself that I was a grown-up and should therefore know what to do.

I immediately called AAA, which took quite some time to get to the appropriate New York office since I had no idea where I was. They told me I’d have to call the police to figure out where I was, or maybe they could find someone in their Maps Division (who even knew there was such a thing?,) who could figure it out. But I said I’ll try to ask someone who’s driving on the highway. At this point, it was pretty much bumper-to-bumper, and people were driving slowly enough to hear me call out to ask where exactly we were. But did even one person help me? No, most likely because I looked like a lunatic! If I had looked like cute, fashionable, made-up L.A. Karen, somebody might have answered me. At least I like to think so.

Finally, a really nice car with a classy-looking woman driving it stalled right behind me. So I ran over to see if I could help her, and at the same time maybe she’d know where we are. While we were trying to figure it all out, a cute guy in a Fire Chief car pulled-up and came out to help us. Or so I thought. All he did was push the woman’s car onto the shoulder because it was blocking a lane of the highway, and tell me that he couldn’t help because he was on the way to something else important. But at least he told me what highway I was on and what exit I was near. (Yes, of course I know that I should’ve at least known what highway I was on, but I get lost around that area, and I wasn’t even sure if I was on the one I wanted to be on to begin with!)

So, AAA said someone would be on the way, but I had to pay the tow truck driver because–actually I don’t really know why but that’s just what they said to do, so what the heck. Of course, at that point, all I could worry about was did I have enough money to tip the driver. I realized with horror that I had left all my cash back in my house in Brooklyn except for maybe ten dollars! (I told you I’m an idiot!)

I called Mr. X to tell him what was happening, and he asked me how much battery I had left on my cell phone. Of course, there was hardly any charge left, and I didn’t have my car charger with me. (Again in my defense, I was planning to stay in Brooklyn and work on the house, not take a week-end drive because the heat in the house made it too dangerous to stay there at that point, and on top of that I was still jet-lagged, so I was really not mentally prepared to be on the road at that point.)

So, I sat in my car and started to write a column about my ordeal. Just then, a big tow truck showed-up, and I could not have been more thrilled. Until, that is, I found out it was not the one AAA sent. The girl at AAA had told me not to accept any work from anyone other than the guy she told me was coming, so I told this guy that I was waiting for AAA and thank you anyhow. Then I realized that it was a New York State Highway vehicle that patrols the roadways for the very purpose of helping people in need, such as me. And that help is free, to boot!

So I threw caution to the wind about this man being a total stranger, and asked for his help, anyway. And guess what? He said that he couldn’t help me because I had already called AAA! So, I had to sit there for another hour and a half in the heat and the rain not knowing exactly where I was, and feeling more alone then I even have when I’m doing all the work on the house in Brooklyn by myself! At that point, I would have been grateful for the company of my mother’s doll collection!

Finally, Darren from the appointed towing company showed-up, and he was great. But this is where I was totally stupid. (I don’t want to horrify anyone, so I’m letting you know right now that nothing bad happened, but it could have all gone terribly wrong because nobody knew where I was; if anything had happened to me, it would have been my own fault for not thinking of how to protect myself. That’s why I’m relating this story here—as a cautionary tale. And because, if I had been telling this on my show, I would’ve made it into a funny story, like I did for my friends when I finally arrived in the Hamptons that night. So, after you’ve learned your lesson here, maybe you should go back and read it again for humor’s sake.)

Darren was wonderful; he told me that the tire hadn’t exploded because the guy earlier that morning had filled it too much, (which is what some naysayer pals tried to horrify me with,) but that it had just rotted out in the heat. He put the little donut spare tire in its place, and told me to not worry because it would definitely get me to the Hamptons. But then I’d have to buy a new tire in the Hamptons. And we all know that would not have been cheap.

I was getting rid of the car in just four more weeks, and really hated to go to that expense, but what was a single girl on a strange highway to do? Darren said he knew a place where I could get a good used tire, and to follow him off the highway. So, that’s what I did; I followed him to… Shantytown!

We pulled up to what looked like an abandoned gas station in a depressed town I never saw before. I felt like Janet Leigh in Psycho. I was faced with what looked like a tent village made out of tires. OMG!!! A short person dressed in black, covered in dirt, with just a few teeth, who didn’t speak much English, came over to help. (I never did ascertain if it was a male or female, but at that point I didn’t care—I was just hoping it was someone who could help. And he or she seemed totally nice enough.) Darren explained the situation to, let’s go with “her”, and an older, dirtier man came out to work on my car. But not before I made Darren look at my driver’s license to see how good I usually look. (Shallow even in the face of danger–that’s me!) (And, by the way, how bad did I have to look when my driver’s license is a million steps up from me in person???)

I needed change of my ten (because I wanted to give Darren half, and have half for me in case of yet another emergency,) so I walked into what looked like a store on the same site. It was indeed a store, at some point in its existence, but definitely not now. Some strange scary older man, dressed as a crossing guard, followed me in there, and let me know that it was now abandoned. But not before he told me I was beautiful…and asked for money. At that point, if I had had any, I would’ve given him some just for thinking that I looked good! Turns out, he was just a crazy old drunk who bothers everyone he can. Darren told him repeatedly to leave me alone, and the man finally left. I think. For all I know, he disappeared into the “tire town,” never to be seen again.

But the adjacent gas station was in operation, with the two men who run it taking just cash and dispensing change from their jacket pockets. What a strange enterprise. After much cajoling by me, they finally agreed to give me two fives for my ten so I could hook-up Darren. I paid him with the credit card, gave him his tip, thanked him profusely, and made him take some pictures of me, just to show my friends and readers the entire horror of the situation. (But it was all even worse than I thought, so I’m sorry to say that you’ll just have to imagine what I looked like.) He left telling me that if I hadn’t made thirty mentions of my boyfriend, he would’ve hit on me. So that cheered me up, and creeped me out, at the same time. Welcome to my world.

So, there I was, all alone, except for the denizens of Shantytown. The old man in charge of the tires finally understood that I wanted a used, as opposed to a new, tire. They did it all pretty quickly, especially in the rain, and when I went to pay with a credit card, they told me they accept only cash! Darren had left, who at that point was the only friend I had in the world, and there was no one else around except the tire people and those weirdo gas men. I started to panic, and had no idea what to do. They finally got the point across to me that there was an ATM in the abandoned store. (Remember, they didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Shanty.) So, praying that my checking account had enough in it for the tire, I went to use the cash machine. Of course, I was accompanied by the old tire man, the young gas guy, and my drunk stalker. Seriously, they all stood there watching me try to use this ramshackle ATM. I was such a wreck, I forgot to take my receipt! God knows what became of it.

I paid for the tire, thanked them profusely, and asked for a receipt, which I was shocked that they gave me willingly. It wasn’t until I was back in LA that I checked the receipt which said simply, “One used tire no guarantees.” There’s not even the name of the place on it! ( If it even has a name.)

By that point, it was raining really hard, and I was drenched, (despite the unfashionable rain gear I had on,) starving, and in real need of a restroom. So I decided to risk my life, and use the facilities there. But when I asked the young gas guy for the key, he told me they didn’t have any. At that point, I lost it. I got up in his face, and yelled, “I know you must have a restroom! You guys have to go to the bathroom at some point! You have to give me the key right now!” I guess I scared him because he promptly gave it up right away. But then I wish he hadn’t. It was the most disgusting place I have ever seen in my entire life, and remember—I was in a traveling circus! I know disgusting.

But even the giant dead cockroach greeting me as I opened the door, the missing toilet seat, the lack of anything that could be even remotely used as toilet paper, and the black filth all over the walls, could not deter me. I exited as quickly as I could, and as I ran to my car, I remembered that I had no idea where I was. So I had to ask the tire people how to get back to the highway, which they had no idea how to do, and even if they did, remember–they didn’t speak English, so they didn’t really know what I was asking. (And, this being Shantytown, there were no other human beings around. It kind of felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.) It was by sheer will that I figured out what to do myself.

I got back on the road just in time for the second biggest downpour I have ever driven through in my entire life! I was terrified. Even the thought of the free car wash I was getting didn’t help out. Perhaps the entire six-hour ordeal, (which should have taken just one and a half,) complete with the gripping of the steering wheel for dear life, is what made my hands go numb to begin with. I’m not kidding.

Now here’s the serious part of this story, which I hope you will all take note of. When I finally got to my friends’ house, and told them of this harrowing situation I’d been through, when they were done laughing, (which is always the reaction I’m going for,) they pointed out that nobody, not even they, nor Mr. X, knew where I was! I could have been robbed, beaten, raped, killed, whatever, and no one would have known where to find me. We all read stories like this every day. (At least, those of us who read the Daily Mail do.) Unlike most things in my life, I realized that this one is not really a laughing matter.

So, please everyone who’s reading this, always let someone know where you are, especially if you’re out alone, on the road or otherwise. I consider myself a lucky girl to have met up with only honest people during this ordeal. But others have not been as fortunate.

So, after you have a chuckle at what I went through, (because nothing is worth it to me unless I can make it into a funny story and make people laugh,) please let it be a lesson to all of us of how to protect ourselves from now on. And also, maybe don’t drive a sixteen-year-old unreliable car, on a road that you’re not familiar with, with no money, looking bad, by yourself. Yeah, that one.