So Get Out Your Strollers and Jump Around
March 20, 2009
Today I am going to write the post I intended to write yesterday, before it got understandably bumped to make room for the whole near-death-by-Archer-Farms-Organics thing. Once you read this post, you will understand why comments along the line of "wow, you're really good in a crisis" cracked my shit up PROPER, because: no. Just no.
(And now that I've gotten the whole third-grade writing assignment "this is an essay about frogs and why I like frogs and in conclusion frogs are cool" format out of my system, on with the show frog blog!)
Imagine! If you will! Noonish on Wednesday! Preschool pick-up timeish! I head out to the car, baby in tow, and hit the remote to unlock the doors. No response. I try again. Nothing.
Awwwww hell. That's a dead battery, right there.
I unlock the door with the key and try to start the engine anyway, but la la la, it is indeed dead as a doornail.
"Well. Crap!" I cheerfully remark to Ezra, who is sitting in his car seat on the ground. Luckily, we bought a gadget just for this very problem! A handy portable battery jumper that plugs into the cigarette lighter, because Jason said he preferred if I WASN'T hooking stuff up to the actual battery, LIKE HA HA, VERY FUNNY.
Like I even know where the battery is. Whatever.
The battery charger was in the trunk. So I hit the trunk button on the remote. Oh, right, duh. I hit the unlock button on the door, still obviously new to the idea of "power" and "electricity" and "batteries" and look, I have a degree in COMMUNICATIONS, people. I minored in ENGLISH. I'm barely qualified to DRIVE.
So I walk around to the trunk and try to open it. Locked. And yes, I totally tried to unlock it with the remote. Again. I also don't really know how to override my brain's auto-pilot.
I go to use the key and...huh.
Where do I put the key?
(Background: it's a Subaru Forester. We bought it last summer, and until this very moment I had never opened the trunk with anything but the remote.)
Looking for all the world like a person Who Just Does Not Understand How The World Works, I search and search all over the trunk door, randomly poking the key at anything resembling a lock. Nope, that's screw. And that's another screw. What the fucking fuck?
I climb back in the driver's seat and looked for the manual trunk release. I manage to pop the hood and the gas tank and readjust the steering wheel, but there is nothing for the trunk. I look in the glove compartment, vaguely remembering a car I once owned that hid some important button in there, though I forget what it was. Batmobile-warp-setting? I look all over the floor and at this point I'm getting a tad WORKED UP because PRESCHOOL! PRESCHOOOOOOL!
Okay, fine. We'll do this the hard way. The hard, awkward, grunty way that will probably result in me flashing mom-ass-crack to the neighborhood while I climb over the backseat to try to open the trunk that way.
(The battery jumper was not just *in* the trunk, of course, in an easily accessible area -- it was buried in the bottom of the storage area under the floor, blocked by 1) a floor panel, 2) a hard plastic mat designed to protect that precious fucking floor panel, 3) two dozen reusable grocery bags, 3) a stroller frame for Ezra's car seat, 4) a single Maclaren umbrella stroller, and 5) the biggest heaviest goddamn fucking double stroller on the market today: the Phil & Ted's.)
I huff and puff and reach around all this garbage, desperately trying to reach the door, which...does not have a latch or a handle or a lock or a release button or OH MY GOD YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.
I give up and call Jason to explain the situation. He doesn't believe me about the trunk thing. I go back to inspect the back door again, just to be sure, just because I have an incredible track record of finding the exact thing I swear is lost forever when I'm on the phone with Jason screeching about how something is lost forever BECAUSE YOU MOVED IT WHERE DID YOU MOVE IT YOU MUST HAVE MOVED IT SOMEWHERE I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GONNA Oh. Look. Here it is! Never mind! Loveyoubye!
He suggests just getting the stupid jumper out of the trunk by way of the backseat. I whine about all the stuuuuuffff back there and how I can't put the backseat down or anything because then I'd have to take out the car seats and that takes forever and seriously I have to pull that heavy goddamn stroller over the backseat and that's going to be harder than you think because it's heaveeeeee.
"Yeah," Jason agrees. I swear I can hear him shrugging.
Because he is not giving me the sympathy for How Difficult Amy's Life Is Sometimes that I desire, I hang up on him.
I start pulling the big stroller over the seat, struggling to get a good grip on it, as my knees and legs are wobbling all over the base of Ezra's infant seat, but then I finally get it up and over and...wedged in by the back headrest, which it hadn't really occurred to me to remove. I push the stroller back into the trunk, remove the headrest and try again.
It takes a few good yanks before I get a good grip on the stroller and manage to get it up and over the seat, but I do, and at the last minute I overestimate the amount of force needed because OH CRAP THE WHEELS INERTIA HALP and the next thing I know the stroller makes it all the way over and falls on me, knocking me off my unsteady perch and my ass falls into the space between the driver's seat and the back seat and let me just tell you: my ass is too big for that space but I fold up like book anyway and end up wedged between the seats, with my ass dangling a couple inches off the floor, my back pushed forward by the recline of the driver's seat and OH HELL MY LEGS are buried somewhere under a ginormous, bright green stroller and my baby is still sitting on the asphalt in our next-door neighbor's parking space and I STILL HAVEN'T FIGURED OUT HOW TO OPEN THE TRUNK.
(I have, at least, figured out WHY the car's battery is dead: the ceiling light in the trunk got switched from the "turn on when the door is open" setting to the "be on all the time" setting, like WHY would anyone need that setting, that's a battery-killing stupid setting and if I had to guess how the setting got changed I would lay the blame squarely on the giant stroller currently cutting off the oxygen supply to my feet.)
I wriggle and wiggle and manage to get out from under the stroller and pull a few more items out of the trunk without further incident, and ta-da! I lift the floor panel (which only opens in the direction of the unopenable, Pharoah's tomb-like back door, OF COURSE) and blindly reach around and get my fingers on what I think is the battery jumper. And it is! And look! It still has the instructions attached to it. Oh, fucking happy day.
Step one! Turn unit on by pressing the ON/OFF button.
Step two! If the unit does not turn on, you probably forgot to charge it up, moron.
Step three! Stand in the street looking pathetically around for someone, anyone who could give you a jump the old-fashioned way, provided they jumper cables, because you, of course, don't have jumper cables. Who needs jumper cables when you have an awesome portable battery jumper? You just keep in the trunk!
Step four! Call husband, have him leave work to go claim poor, abandoned child at school, take baby inside and search for the charging adaptor for the battery jumper, which you won't find but you WILL come across a six-inch solid chocolate Santa that your three-year-old got in his Christmas stocking.
Step five! Eat the aforementioned chocolate Santa. It's really the only logical conclusion to this mess of a story.