I'd be lying if I said I didn't check out the Babeland goody bag (see Where Do You Get Off? post below) while waiting in line at Pinks. I'd be lying again if I said there wasn't an 8-inch red vibrator that resembled a shift stick from a European sports car inside of it and that I planned to do nothing with it. (I even sent my friend back to the store to figure out how to put the batteries in.) Also in the bag was a CD, a collection of erotic stories “to quickly get you in the mood” and some unflavored (which really is just as well) personal lubricant. So I left my friends feeling empowered, though slightly nauseous from the cheese fries, and ready for a little “dancin' with myself” whoa-oh-oh-oh…

Unfortunately, however, my car had other plans, mainly, to go to sleep while I was careening down the 10 freeway at 80 mph. I wrestled the car across two lanes without the help of power steering. Once there I flashed my hazards, and since my cell had run out of juice, I debated how I would send up smoke signals. But mostly I just cried. Cars wizzed past and I remembered a story about a girl who was raped near my hometown because she didn't know how to change a flat tire. Well, she was raped because a man took advantage of the fact that she didn't know how to change a flat tire. After news had spread about this woman, I remember my high school boyfriend taking me out in the parking lot with a lugnut wrench and a jack and watching as I proved I could change my own tire.

Now, I got out of my car and peeked under the hood, this same boyfriend drilled in all kinds of car knowledge, (like how a carburetor mixes air and gas, but I had fuel injection, so no carburetor.) the engine turned over so that eliminated battery, alternator and spark plug concerns, what the hell was it? Maybe I didn't have enough gas, it was really low. While I was under the hood staring into the black abyss of my engine, I became aware of a car slowly sliding onto the shoulder, I could see two men get out, silhouetted by their headlights, they had left their car running. “Fuck,” I thought to myself. I could hear the voice of John Walsh from America's Most Wanted in my head, “She was last seen carrying a blue bag filled with a vibrator and personal lubricant, if you have information leading to her whereabouts please call…” One of the guys spoke up “You ok?” he asked. “Yeah, I'm fine. My boyfriend's on the way,” I heard myself say. None of those statements were true. “Well,” he said, “I can take a look.” He had a flashlight on his keychain and he pointed it at my battery, checking cables as he asked me what happened and tried to convince me to take a ride with them “just off the next exit,” he knew a mechanic there who could help. It was after midnight, I assured them that my boyfriend would arrive momentarily. They both looked kind of drunk, the quiet one was the drunkest, he just leaned against the side of my car and didn't say anything. Finally after a bit more urging they left.

I got back into my car and locked the doors, I searched my bag for mace, damn, it was in my other bag. I tried turning the cell on and off, it would power on only for a split second before the screen went black again. Finally, I leaned against the steering wheel and cried some more. What the hell was I going to do? Another car slowed down and stopped in the lane, a dude in a trucker cap was asking me if I was ok. His music was loud, all I heard from his radio were the words “god” and “lord” and it wasn't gospel music, I rolled down my window and said that my contact lens fell out and motioned for him to keep moving. Luckily, he did.

Finally, another car pulled over, this time in front of me and a small girl in her early 20s approached. To say she was an angel sounds cheezy, but not when you take into consideration that I uttered the words “dear god please help me” at least a hundred times. “Are you ok?” she asked. “Yeah, my cell died. Do you have one I could use?” I asked. “Oh of course,” she said,” this happened to me once.” I called the towing company, and Liz the patron saint of dead cell phones talked to me outside for a bit, but it was cold and late, and after a half an hour, I made her leave.

I eventually got home to discover my dog was missing (don't worry- turns out the neighbor found her running down the street, kept her cause no one was home and left a message… on my cell. I got her the next day), but as I curled up in my bed, car-less, dog-less and phone-less, I reached into the bag and pulled out Werner, the stick shift weiner, “I'm sorry dude, I'm going to have to take a rain check. I'm just not in the mood.” I rolled over knowing, at the very least, I didn't have to contend with hurt feelings…

Posted by Linda Immediato

LA Weekly