By Sarah Nestor
Saint Mary's News Editor
Last week one of the worst things that could possibly happen did.
No, I wasn't ran over by a ten-ton truck, I wasn't robbed at gunpoint and I didn't break my leg.
My car broke down.
When I say my car broke down, I mean it would not start, would not turnover, nothing, nada and I couldn't even get my radio to work. This was a dire situation.
Having no other option, I called campus security with the hope that somehow they could help my poor car out. I should probably mention a couple of things at this point so there can be a complete understanding of the situation.
I like to think that my car has a lot of character. In other words, it's old, but its been with me since I was 16 and I have a lot memories with my `89 Buick.
That's right, 1989.
I was eight years old the last time my car was anywhere near the dealership floor.
Some of you may be thinking with a car that old I shouldn't have been surprised that it broke down. But it should be pointed out that Buick's are built to last. They are just one of those cars that, no matter how much you want them to die and go to junk yard heaven, they are almost always revived.
These are some the thoughts that I contemplated as I waited 45 minutes for security to find me. And no, I wasn't parked away in some impossible hidden crevice of campus because I was actually parked in the `employee' parking lot at the Joyce Center. You know, that first line of parking where it's too tempting when you just need to run to class for an hour or so.
After many attempts during my 45 minute wait to get my car to do something, anything, the security officers did locate me, pulled out the jumper cables and tried to get ol' blue revived. With little success we, ol' blue and I, were considered a lost cause.
At this point, I have to give thanks for the fact that I have a cell phone because right then and there I was able call my Dad and sounding very pathetic I explained my crisis.
Being a put-the-key-in-the-ignition-and hoping-it-runs type of girl, I was scared to call a mechanic, especially since my funds had been a little low. I barely know how to open my hood, so how was I going to know if that $500 "thing-a-ma-jig" really needed to be replaced or not.
Luckily for me, home is only a three-hour drive from here and my Dad decided to make the trip, saving me the hassle of dealing with the car crisis. It only took him a few hours and he had all the problems sorted out, even teaching me a few things.
In the end, all ol' blue needed was a new battery, some oil (only about three quarts worth), power steering fluid and all those other fluids that go in a car. Well, I'm still not an expert, I don't know what all those different liquids are, but I can learn one day.
I did learn how to put oil in my car and it only took me five years.
All Inside Stories for Monday, September 23, 2002