REVERSE
As I prepared to head back to Palm Springs after a great weekend in San Diego, I noticed my car was acting funny. Precisely, my gear shift was odd. Reverse didn’t work all the time. So, I thought, before I head up the freeway, I’ll pull over and check my transmission fluid. I pulled into a parking lot near Balboa Park and parked. (I want all those “parks” to be in that previous sentence.) Transmission fluid was full, no problem there. I got back in the Jag and reverse didn’t work. I couldn’t get the car in reverse. I tried and tried. I cussed. I turned the car off and walked around. I got back in. Still no reverse. I was stuck in a parking place. Sweating, I found my AAA card. I called. It was very difficult to describe where I was because it was a parking lot. “P” as in Paul, parking lot, that kinda thing. The tow truck arrived after a long, hot half-hour. The driver couldn’t find a place to hook his chain to the back of my car. I suggested we try and push it, I was afraid he was going to rip my back bumper off or rip something off in the back of my car. I put the car in reverse and we pushed. It started to move. Then it really caught some steam and was zooming backward. I was thinking, how will we stop it before it hits another car? So I jumped forward and thought I might get in the driver’s seat and slow it down. Just then the tow truck driver stopped pushing, the car slowed down, and I tried to walk forward. But I couldn’t. I looked down as I heard my knee crack. The front tire of my car was running over my foot. The tire got to the peak of my top foot arch then “reversed” and rolled back off my foot. Sounds and sights slowed down, everything was white. Slow motion. I’ll never forget watching the tire roll across my foot then reverse and roll back off. The motor of the tow truck was as loud as a plane taking off. I yelled to the driver that the car had just rolled across my foot. “You ok, man?” “No,” I yelled. “My fucking car just ran over my foot.” I hobbled to the curb and took off my running shoe. (I wasn’t wearing sandles which is a good thing.) My foot was red but it didn’t look crushed. “You ever have a car run over your foot”, I yelled to the driver. “Lots a times, man. If you can wiggle your toes you’re ok.” I wiggled my toes. But I didn’t feel ok.