I’m trying to do more writing, so I thought I would share this little story. Yes, this is a true story and it is my story.
Doomed From the Start
I should have known that going to Vancouver was doomed from the start. The problem all started with a fight with my boyfriend. My roommate, Carl, came home with his friend, Rod, ten minutes after the fight. As they entered the apartment, I said, “I have to get out. I want a drink!” Carl asked why, and I explained. Carl and Rod agreed. But, where to go? Rod is only twenty, so it was Vancouver Canada. I did not want to take my car. Rod volunteered his car and Carl, Rod and I were off. It was about 9 p.m.
Since we were living in Seattle at the time this made Vancouver a two-hour drive. The drive was uneventful until 2 miles from the border. When Rod revealed that he did not have insurance or a driver’s license, Carl and I began to yell at him things that will remain unsaid. I told him to pull over, so I could drive into Canada. We had no problem getting in Canada even though Rod had no driver’s license, I was driving a car that was not mine, and Carl had no identification at all. All the border guards asked us is how much money we had: $250 (200 was for my half of the rent) and an expired credit card. However, I did not reveal that part.
We arrived in Vancouver, and couldn’t find a bar. We drove around asking anyone that was on the street if they know where a good bar was, but no luck. We found a bar, but it was 15 minutes before the last call, so we slammed down a drink or two, before the DJ call out last call. I danced with a weird guy, which only had one thing on his mind. Carl and Rod just stood to the side and laughed, as the guy made so kind of spasmodic moves towards me. By this time I decided it was time to head home. At about 3 a.m.
After stopping for gas, and something to eat because Rod only weighted only 99 pounds and he downed about 3 double White Russians in about 20 minutes. We asking directions to the border, by this time we had about five dollars left, getting back into the U.S. was not as easy as getting out. At the border I was driving, Carl was in the front passenger seat, and Rod had passed out in the back seat. As we pulled up to the border officer in a little tollbooth, he asked our names. Carl and I told him but we could not remember Rod’s last name. Therefore, we woke Rod up. Rod was not happy to be waked up and the boarder guard was not happy either. We were told to pull over and go into the building. The officer behind the desk was even less happy to see us either. This happened at about five o’clock in the morning.
The officer asked to see our IDs. Rod and I showed him ours, but Carl did not have one. When Carl told the officer that, he started asking Carl questions. “Where do you live?” “When is your birthday?” “What is your social security number?” Carl gave him the information and then asked to go to the restroom; I guess that his bladder was full from all of 15 minutes of drinking. The man behind the desk said, “No, you all sit down and don’t move.” We sat down and joked with Carl that were would have to forward his mail, and tell his mom that he had to start a new life in Canada. The officer came back after looking up something on the computer and said we could go. Carl screamed were the restroom!! As the officer pointed the way and Carl took off running to the restroom and we were on the road again. Rod fell back asleep. Carl vowed that he was never going to Canada again.
About an hour and half from Seattle, the car started making a knocking noise. Therefore, we pulled over at the next gas station. I know little about cars and Carl and Rod less than I did. I checked the water and it was a brown color. I asked Rod, “When was the last time he had his car checked out?” “I haven’t,” he said. I checked the oil. When I pulled out the dipstick, it was rusty and as I looked down the rusty dipstick there was a hard tar ball on the end. I started yelling, “What kind of person has a car with no oil? Don’t you know you have to have oil?” Rod replied, “I don’t know how to check my oil.” I pulled out the stick and put it in his face. “Here is how!” With our last five dollars, I bought 2 quarts of oil and put them in the car. We had no more money and started home again.
The car was running hot. I often had to stop and let the car cool off before continuing. About 45 minutes from Seattle as we were going up a hill, the car made a loud boom. Steam and smoke came from the engine. Rod jumped up from the back seat. I was barely able to pull off the road. Cars going by at 50 and 60 miles per hour made the car shake. Carl got out to look at the engine. It was still dark, and there was no light under the hood. Carl asked if Rod had a flashlight. Rod handed Carl a small little tiny squeeze light (like that was going to help). Carl got back in the car and we all turned on each other yelling and swearing. It was like a plot out of a B movie… young adults dead in their car on side of the highway. We started to hitchhike, but no one would pick us up. To top it off, it started to rain. As the sun rose, we could see a telephone down a side road. I told the boys that I would call my parents, find a Western Union and, I would get us out of this mess, even though it was my fight that got us here. Halfway to the telephone, a police officer drove up and asked if that was our car back down the highway.
I asked if there was a Western Union around here. He said that yes there was and he would take us after he looked at the car. He put all three of us in the back of his police car. Let me tell you, you do not want to be in the back seat of a police car with two other people. Rod’s bony hip was poking me. Carl was complaining and telling me to move over. My toes were pushed under the metal fencing that separates the front from the back. It made an ugly situation uglier. Back at our car the officer looked at the car and saw my five-dollars of oil running down the highway. When the officer came back to open his door, it was locked and the keys were in the ignition. My heart sank. I was wet, my toes were being smashed, and Rod’s bony ass was poking me. Now I am locked in a car with no way out. Fortunately, the window was down far enough for the officer to reach into the car and unlock his door.
The officer took us to the bus station where there was a Western Union. However, the station was closed until 10:30 a.m. It was only 8 a.m. I called my dad. He wired me some money. As we waited, Rod decided he was not going to wait any more and called an aunt of his to ask if she would come pick us up. She agreed but it would be a while. When the bus station opened, she had not arrived. Western Union gave me my money, and I bought bus tickets. Rod said he was going to wait for his aunt. Carl and I were not going to wait. We boarded the bus-leaving Rod behind. His aunt did not show up until 4 p.m. Rod did not talk to Carl or me for two weeks, and he never talked about the trip to Vancouver.
