Pam, Joey, and the most organized moment of my life

So now that were back on the open road, I've got time to tell what happened yesterday:

So somewhere in the previously described wasteland between miami and Daytona we stopped to switch drivers. But the car wouldn't start. So I went inside the gas station to ask if they could jump us. No dice. So I returned to the vehicle for a second attempt at starting the car. Success. So we assumed we killed the battery even while driving somehow by having a radar detector, ipod, blackberry, and GPS all plugged in and charging. But we brushed it off and continued on.

In daytona we pulled over to use the restrooms. When we returned to the car, nothing. Based on our previous experiences, we tried waiting for a while and then starting it. No dice. So rather than troll the lot requesting jumps, only to likely have a need to repeat the process at our next stop, we called AAA.

And thus we entered the darkest period yet of our journey. The operator gave us an estimate of forty five minutes to wait, but in mechanic numbers that could be 2 hours.

So we waited. We had yet to make it North enough to escape that unbearable Gulf heat. The sun beat down on us, and without a running car we had no A/C. Stephen succumbed, passing out in a tepid pool of sweat and self-pity. Knowing that if I closed and locked the door we would both die of heat exhaustion, and if I fell asleep with the door open I would be relieved of all of my worldly possessions, I struggled to maintain conciousness. Knowing not what was wrong with the vehicle -as the symptoms were different from that of any dead battery I had previously dealt with- and hundreds of miles from anyone we knew, and a hard deadline of wednesday night for our arrival, we intrepid travelers were staring uncertainty and confusion right in the face.

As I said before, these were dark times.

But riding to the rescue on their gleaming white f-150 pickup are Joey, smiling big to show the teeth he still has, and his wife Pam, who is flicking her cigarette out the passenger window. She steps out, takes a deep breath, and says,

"You need a new battery. I can tell already." Then let's out a big redneck chuckle.

"What, you can smell these things?"

Hillbilly giggles......

Meanwhile, Joey has been investigating under the hood. He reaches the same conclusion as his spidey-sensing mechanic wife. He asks when I got this last battery. I informed him that I just got a new battery from AAA not two months ago.

"Do you have the paperwork for that?"

Oh, S#!t...........paperwork? I looked back at my vehicle, literally overflowing with the enirety of my material accumaltion over four years of college. Passenger space was an afterthought.

"This is why I tell all my customers to keep the paperwork in the glove box"

Thanks Joey.....

"Well I'm kinda moving right now," gesturing towards the car, with the car-top carrier poking out at odd angles to accomodate its varied and somewhat bizarre contents.

But then it happened: the most organized moment of my life. I knew exactly where I had filed that receipt. And I knew exactly what box I had stashed my files in. And I knew exactly where in the car I put that box.

I dove in, grabbed the box, tore it open, and retrieved the document. Because AAA had given me the very battery that was no longer starting my car they replaced it for free. While Joey was working on replacing the battery, I offered to buy them a drink or snack from the 7-11 we were camped out in front of.

"Well I don't really know what they have in there" Pam replies, glancing in the window.

In a 7-11?

"I guess if they have pepperoni pizza I'll take a slice"

In a 7-11?

So I went in to buy Pam a piece of cardboard that's been rotating in a glass warming box next to the pakistani gentleman behind the counter for the past two weeks. At least I don't have to eat it.

## Change of narrator ##

The oppressive heat was taking its toll and eventually my sleep was interrupted. In front of the popped hood of the Q, was standing a middle age AAA worker who I think was named Joey. Joey did not come alone today to work but was with his lovely wife, Pam. “This battery is dead, I can smell it,” I heard one of them say as I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I felt like a patient with several doctors working on me as Joey and Pam analyzed the Q. I’m not sure if Joey even saw me but I watched as the fresh, long-lasting battery was being installed, replacing the similar battery that Dan got installed a month ago. Throughout his ownership of the Q, Dan has apparently become very familiar and close to AAA and its reliable workers. To keep his esteemed status in the company, Dan dragged me to lunch with Joey and Pam and the local 7-11 where we found ourselves stranded about an hour ago.