In response to B’s blog– impressive assistance–I remember a good assist as well.
I was driving home from my mom’s with my then three little sleeping kids in the back of our Toyota Previa. It was about nine o’clock at night, and dark, and I was driving south on the 5, when I got a blowout. This was a surprise, as I had never encountered any type of flat tire in all my driving. We had just come up on an area called Boyle Heights, which is one of the worst crime areas in Los Angeles, right by LA County Hospital. I slowed down, pulled over to the shoulder and drove along until I came to a call box.
Now this was before the time of cell phones, probably about 1988. I had this big navy blue down jacket, and I put it on, pulling the hood up as well, so no one could see that I was a girl, and slid out of the mini van to place the call. I had never used one of those call boxes and was surprised that it was not a telephone. It went directly to some operator, and I could ask her to call someone for me. So, thinking that I was closer to my moms than my home where my husband was, I had the operator call her, and my brother in law said he could come down and change my tire. I got back in the car and waited with my sleeping kids for my brother in law to show up.
Not much time passed and a Highway Patrolman pulled up behind me. He came over to my window, and noticing my situation–a young woman with little kids, at night, broken down on the freeway on the bad side of town–said that although he not suppose to change tires, he thought it best to get me out of there. He got his gloves on and went to work. About the time he finished, my brother in law pulled up in the Accord.
I too am usually not happy to see a copper pull up anywhere near me while driving, but that night I was thankful. And I was glad that Ron had offered his help as well.
So, tonight, after writing this thought out, my husband and I went out to get gas in the Yukon and buy some milk for tomorrow morning. As he was filling the tank a young girl (with plenty of charm as Jack would say) came over to ask for help with her flat tire. Seems her boyfriend did not have the correct jack. My husband went over to help, but in looking for our jack found that it was missing. No worry, he volunteered to run home and get the Tundra. He dropped me off at the grocery store in the same parking lot, and drove home about a mile to exchange cars.
Funny but when he had returned he was not needed, as another man had come by with a jack and was fixing it.
How funny life is.
Oh, and btw, my daugther called and told me a funny story today, about how she was driving her husband’s dad’s big white pickup, and got pulled over by a cop. She too had that moment of “oh no, a copper”–but found out she was unknowingly driving with the lift gate down, and dropping boots and socks, etc, out onto Main Street as she drove along. He had pulled her over just to let her know.
I tell B about it, and he tells me to read his blog update (bicycle rolls off the back of his pickup, lift-gate down, cop pulls around to block traffic so the delightful young wife can run out there and get it.)
Are we connected by thoughts and actions?
Post script: We just drove to Utah, Valentine Radar on high alert, avoiding the coppers again. I made sure the lift-gate was secure, as I had the dog in her kennel, and a desk chair I was transporting. We fortunately did not drop anything, or get a speeding ticket. But once in Provo, I saw a police officer, pulled over in his patrol car, cones out in the street, getting ready to change his flat tire. So Strange
