This weekend I drove down to Seattle for a concert with a dozen of the coolest people alive. We left on the thursday afternoon for the concert that evening, and would spend the night in a hotel together. I didn't think it was possible to have that much fun in so little time. Not only were the bands all fantastic, but the actual car ride itself was an adventure.
Before leaving for Seattle on Thursday, the owner of the vehicle in which I was travelling in relayed this message: "And you can tell Steve (our 'driver/chaperone') that if the van starts making that clicking noise, it's been doing that for over a year, and not to worry about it." So you can imagine the shock and surprise the passengers in the van were feeling as we were rapidly losing speed in the middle lane of a 3-lane highway just outside of Seattle. At first, I thought Steve was just kidding around; it seemed possible, this was the guy that sporadically slammed on his brakes as a 'seatbelt check' in the middle of busy traffic. After a few nervous "You're joking, right Steve?" 's and possibly a couple "OH MY LANTA, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" 's, I realized to my horror as the massive semi-truck was quickly speeding towards us from behind, that this was NOT Steve messing around. No, the vehicle was definitely not functioning anymore.
Now, we had enough speed to get us to the shoulder of the highway, if any of the other drivers in the right-hand lane had thought it prudent to let us in. Alas, this just wasn't what they would call 'necessary', so we ended up having to stoop so low as to cut a poor car off. I was too busy fearing for my life to really feel bad about it. The fact that we were now vehicle-less in the lovely US of A did not seem to bother any of us. We spent the next 2 hours picking flowers, rolling down hills, and dancing for the commuters while poor Steve tried to figure out a way to save us all. He did a relatively good job... the van was towed to a shop that informed us it was a goner, and we walked roughly 3 miles to find a place to eat, and ended up in a high-end, tux-and-floor-length-gown, we-can-fold-our-napkins-fancy restaurant, decked out in our jeans, concert t-shirts and duffel bags. We ate their food, took their mint-chocolates, ditched, and were saved by a good samaritan who drove an hour and a half out of their way just to take us across the border. My jaw hurt from laughing so much. What a great weekend.