Weekend from Hell, Part 2

I was just thinking about 'Part 2'. About the only movie I could recall watching with the words 'Part 2' as part of the title was... The Godfather, Part 2. Interesting the amount of trivia that runs through your head, no?

"I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."



Ahem, well anyway...

My apologies for the semi-long hiatus. I was rather preoccupied by a couple of distractions called computer games, and as such haven't had the inclination to really update.

Anyway, getting back to The Weekend From Hell.

After getting my elbow gashed open and my muscles strained from lugging all that broken glass around, I went to church the next morning in my own car as usual. I parked it in a tree the church parking lot and went into the service.

Had a post-service breakfast with some other members of the worship team, then headed back into church and started my car, and headed home.

Or rather, I tried to head home.

Coming within sight of the exit (oh! glorious daylight!) my car, which had been running fine up to that point, coughed twice somewhat politely and died.

Yes, the engine just turned off, and my car rolled gleefully towards the pole guarding the exit until I hit the brakes, and tried to restart it.

As you can guess, it didn't start. And didn't start. And didn't start.

My irritation by now had turned to panic, and as I frantically tried to coax it to life, that paragon of humility and toleration, that absolute saint of kindliness and understanding, the Church-goer behind me started blowing his horn.

As sweat started to bead on my brow and my attempts to fire up my ride failed, I chanced a glance into my rearview mirror just in time to see him mutter an obscenity. Yes, and don't tell me I'm no lip reader. How hard is it to see the word f*** being uttered anyway? It's kinda distinctive. I see it on disgruntled football players on the telly all the time.

Various obscenities raced through my head as well, but of course, being the saint that I am, I walked over and threw him through his windshield merely nodded and got out, and with the help of the guard at the gate pushed my car aside to allow others to pass.

Naturally, upon inspection, I concluded that my battery had given up the ghost (which is I think the most common cause of a stalled car) and tried to jump start it by pushing the car with the guard and his buddy helping me shove it forward.

With the net result of me misjudging the distance and my car running out of the car park, down the ramp, and into the alley directly opposite the exit.

Pushing it back up the ramp was out of the question, and the alley was too narrow to navigate for another attempt at a jump start. I sighed, got out, and lifted the hood, and started poking around.

Turns out it's the darned fuel pump. I drive a rather ancient vehicle, which runs on a carburetor instead of the new-fangled fuel-injection systems that newer cars use, and I noticed that the little window in the side of the engine which is normally half-full of gas was now empty.

To fast forward, I waited in church for 3 hours till the second morning service was over, then pushed my car into the church's open-air car park nearby to leave my car there overnight, as there weren't any open mechanics on Sunday.

I had to take leave on Monday to get it fixed. Thank God there was a mechanic's shop nearby, and even more so that he's honest, and well-recommended by my ex-colleagues in church.

Now I'm back here on Wednesday at work, and I thank God that my car didn't stall in the middle of heavy traffic. In hindsight, the event wasn't nearly as bad as several others that I had to go through before in my lifetime, but it was certainly one of the more memorable ones. Combined with my assault on the glass door, I think this was most certainly, completely definitely...

The Weekend From Hell.