So, here I sit in Chad's dorm room, nursing a headache. I hate driving home.

The last time I drove home was for Christmas break. The roads were bad, and then on top of that, my car's power steering was beginning to go. By the time I got home, it was shot.

At least that didn't cost $550.

Today I was driving home enjoying myself, singing my heart out to Dixie Chicks (you can laugh, but there were some good memories) and thinking about how everything in my life is going....that's an entirely separate blog topic there. After about 20 minutes, I realized my car sounded like it needed to be shifted (I drive a stick shift) but I was already in fifth gear. Hm. I thought it would be okay but as I got onto 70 I realized that it just wasn't going to work--I couldn't go any faster than 50 mph. I putted along to the next exit, which was lovely little Lewisburg, Ohio. I stop at a little Citgo, on the verge of tears, and call my dad. "It sounds like the clutch." Great. I go inside and the girl tells me there's a shop right down the road. Great. I go get in my car...and...go...no where. The clutch it completely shot and now I have to have the car towed. I go into the gas station and call. I have to say, the girl working was very nice and helpful, and didn't even look amused that I was about to cry. She looked up the number for me and dialed it, and then the garage said they'd send a car right over. I called my dad and he made sure I had enough money in my bank account to cover paying for it (yay for dads who work at banks) and then hung up. What was I going to do? I called Chad and started bawling. Being the amazing friend he is, he rushed from Miami to come pick me up.

Enter slowest mechanic in the world. Or rather, DON'T enter. Okay, I waited for about 20 minutes for the tow truck to show up, crying the whole time and calling random people to try to avoid the mean stares I was getting from the people using the gas pumps. I am sorry my car is parked in such an inconvenient place. It's not like I want it there. Finally, after about 20 minutes, he gets there. We get the car all hooked up and drive a quarter of a mile (a quarter of a mile!!! What took so long???) down the street to the garage. "Well, from this point on, your day has to get better, right?" He tries to be friendly, and I try to pretend my eyes aren't puffy and red. "I hope so!" I say, feigning appreciation for the humor. We go in to the building as he explains that they'll bring my car in later.

So, I stand and wait as this guy piddles around, talking to the mechanics, two of which look young and busy, and one named Jimbo (seriously...as I stood around waiting, I saw it on a schedule, Jimbo.) who looked so old I was afraid he might fall over any minute. He also spoke with a lisp and very, very slowly. I glanced around at the piles of tires and broken car parts, waiting for Chad. Finally he got there, and we waited a little longer, and finally mr. mechanic decides to come tell me what's going on with my car. He says it's definitely the clutch and they can fix it by tomorrow. Good--just in time to go home and see my brother/cousin/friends in their play. I ask if I can get some stuff out of it and he says sure. So I get my stuff out of the car (which is still hooked to the tow truck), take him the keys, and come back to Oxford.

God bless Chad, he saved me. I don't know what I would have done without him! He even took me to get some dinner and a sundae, which, by the way, is the only sweet food I'm allowed to have, because it's Lent--I gave up pop, chocolate, and basically everything sweet except for ice cream. I was rather distressed as I sat at that gas station, and I still didn't eat any chocolate which as any girl knows would have made the whole ordeal a little less shitty. Oh well. It's over now, and tomorrow I will have my car back. Hopefully. Ten to one, it's still sitting on that stupid wrecker.