There Is No Way This Car Ride Was Legal

Before we were married, Thomas and I were friends. One night we were at our friend Chris' house with a group of people. Chris lived in the country. I left his house to help someone pick something up. We were only gone for ten minutes, but in that time, Chris received an emergency phone call and had to leave. My purse was locked up in his house. (Why didn't you have your purse with you, Tracie? I have no idea.)

Thomas offered to drive my car, and me, home, because I could not drive without my license. I wrote a note to Chris, and we left. Forty-five minutes later, as I was walking in my house, I got a call from Chris letting me know he was home. He said I could come back to pick up my purse, but he had an important job interview in the morning, so I needed to come right away.

Thomas and I left my house, and started the long drive.

It is now 11:30 on a Sunday night. We are driving down the long, dark, two-lane, country road on the way to Chis' house, when we hear a loud bang.

First thought - someone is shooting at us!

Realization - my tire just busted.

No big deal. I am a prepared woman. There is a spare in the trunk, and I even have Thomas to help me change it. We will be on our way in no time.

But there was a slight problem with that plan. I had not owned this car for very long, and the jack (which was in the trunk when I bought it) had never been used by me until this point. When I went to pull it out of it's little holding spot, it wouldn't budge. I honestly feel like it was welded in, because we could not get it out.

"I'll just use my cell phone, and call for help." Oh no. My cell phone is in my purse, at Chris' house. I can not call for help.

*Semi-important sidenote, for some reason that I don't clearly remember, Thomas didn't have any shoes with him. This part of the story is a little vague to me. I do remember that I was wearing flip flops.

Thomas and I realized we had no other choice; it was time to start walking. We walked, and we walked, and we walked. We walked past a few dark houses, some with large barking dogs. There was one house that looked as if it had been pulled straight out of a Scooby Doo cartoon, complete with a large gate, eerie lights, and thick fog (we ran past that one). About halfway there, Thomas informed me that he now had a hole in his foot.

*I should tell you that this walk was the moment Thomas chose to inform me he was in love with me. A major life changing conversation took place on this long hike to Chris' house, but that is a story for another day.

After walking nearly two miles, we arrived at Chris' house. His windows were dark. I felt bad, because I knew he had gone to bed to get ready for the interview in the morning, but we had no other choice than to wake him up.

Chris was not happy to see us.

I got my purse, apologized profusely to Chris, and learned that he did not own a jack, or even know how to change a tire. I called another friend, Robert, who agreed to help. Chris gave us a ride to my car, and returned home to go back to sleep.

*I want it noted that Chris did get that job - despite my keeping him up late, and waking him up even later.

We waited in the car for thirty minutes until Robert arrived. He could not get my (probably welded-in) jack out either, but thankfully brought one of his own. We changed my tire, and Robert left.

I start to drive, got about half a mile, and there was a loud banging noise. Not a gunshot, no, just my spare tire dying.

I was happy I had my cell phone to call the roadside assistance people. They told me they would send out a tow truck to take me, and my car, home.

An hour and a half later, a grumpy man with a flatbed tow truck arrives. He gets the car situated, and looks at us, "I don't like my cab full of people. Only one of you can ride with me."

"What?" I thought, "He is seriously going to leave one of us deserted in the middle of the night on a dark country road?" I told him no way, the roadside assistance people said he would take the car and us home, and that is what he had to do.

His response, "Fine, you can ride up front with me, and he can sit in the back, in your car." 

No way was I going to spend forty-five minutes in the truck alone with this guy. But he wouldn't budge. No way was he going to allow Thomas to ride with him.

This is how Thomas and I ended up riding in my car on the back of the tow truck - flying down the interstate at 65 miles per hour, darting in and out of traffic. Every time the tow truck swerved, we swerved. A tip from me to you: the car sits on the flatbed, and it is attached, but not that well. It moves around up there, a lot!

This was probably one of the scariest moments of my life. It can not possibly be legal for someone to ride in the car that is being towed down the interstate. With my desire to get home outweighing my desire for safety (at this point I had to be at work in about three hours), we ducked down when we saw a police car, and prayed we would not hit it when our car came flying off of the back of the truck as we swerved around it.

Thankfully we stayed attached long enough to make it to my house, and we didn't get taken to jail (or to a psychiatric facility - which is probably where we belonged after agreeing to ride in that thing).

Have you ever ridden in a car on the back of a tow truck?