Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
I am going to press pause on the “Rescue Me” series to bring you a special report about very, very ordinary me.
After a considerable amount of time, close to two years without an automobile in Los Angeles, I have at last heard the siren call of the vehicular wind and purchased a car.
It had to be done.
Firstly, there is the matter of the now 80-pounds and growing rescue pup. The one and only Fairness Broderick who has to be transported to things like the vet appointments and someday, hopefully sooner than later, the groomer. His new trainer also leads a “pack-walk” a drivable distance away with a bunch of her clients, which we are excited to attend. There are occasions where the pup needs to be transported, and there was a clear reluctance to do so, on the part of the Lyft and Uber drivers I tried to summon toward this end. Turns out they are not that keen on having a giant, rather serious looking pooch in their personal motion machine.
He really does look like a formidable, possibly scary dog. When we walk down the street people see us coming, and clutch their pocket dogs, hoisting them out of what they perceive as harm’s way. As if I would just blithely amble down the street with a “killer” dog and put their teensy pups’ lives on the line. Fairness is a gentle giant, would not hurt a flea, and I get that they do not know this, but to panic at the sight of him seems a bit much. If he was dangerous, I would have him on a Gentle Leader or some other apparatus that would prevent him from doing harm. I am not going to walk by you and let my dog take out Bipsy or whatever your snaggle toothed darling might be called.
Yesterday, a man saw us walking up behind he and his wife, and he shoved her to the left in order to stand between us and guard her from Fairness. As if I am just heading down the road fixing’ to let my dog take a whack at someone’s wife. As if I call out to my pooch in the morning:
“Fairness, let's saddle up and get out there. We’ve got toy poodles to kill and loved ones to attack.”
Silly, ridiculous, but I guess we Americans are having a hard time trusting one another these days.
Then there is the matter of the feeding of the fellow. He eats a LOT. A growing boy, after all, and we had some serious nutritional deficits to overcome. A small, easily portable bag of chow is about four days’ worth for this guy. We need the fifty pounder. Then there is the fresh turkey and sweet potatoes that need to be cooked (and of course topped with scrambled eggs at breakfast time). All of this has to be purchased and hauled home, and well, that is sure a whole lot easier if a person can drive up to the store where such items are sold.
All of this was weighing on me and pushing me toward the decision to resuscitate my dormant and questionable driving career. I readily admit that I'm not that great at it. I am a bit goosey about the whole business. I once drove with my pal Dennis from Los Angeles to Austin, Texas, which is a considerable distance through some very forgettable terrain. I mean to say that there are parts of Arizona down there that make you shout out loud:
‘Seriously? We went and killed people for this bleak, barren, uninhabitable parcel of land?’
Our ancestors pointed guns at folks down south and said:
‘Back off, Mexico. We are taking this ugly, useless piece of land for our own, and that’s just that. This here is our flag. So, there.’
Wars were fought for this joint. It boggles the mind.
Anyway, the point is Dennis drove the whole way. I offered several times to relieve him of this duty, and he was not having it:
“No, honey. Let’s not put you behind the wheel on this one.”
So even in the middle of nowhere, with very little in the way of life that could come to harm from me being in the driver’s seat, even then he thought better of it.
BUCKLE UP.
Buckle up, L.A. I am back behind the wheel.
I have not missed it–the actual driving part of driving–and I really do enjoy using transit, and it really is good and getting better in L.A, so I was on the fence. I spoke to my sister about it and she began doing research, trying to find the car that she knew would make me do the deed. This would mean locating a certain make of car that was built before 2010 and, extra important to me (though I cannot explain why), it must have been built in Japan. For safety reasons, Laura wanted something for me that was made with a heavy metal frame. She started looking, hoping to find the magic vehicle that would lure me into taking the leap. She has never cottoned to the idea of me riding the bus.
I kept debating about it, going over and over the pros and cons.
Then came the ongoing mystery of what I am referring to as “boo-boo foot,” which was and is giving me fits. I woke up last Thursday, and my right foot was throbbing and painful to the touch. I have psoriatic arthritis, which can be nasty, so this was not entirely out of the ordinary. I wrapped some ice around it while I drank my tea, and then gave it a wee massage and shoved it into my so-ugly-they’re-almost-cute “HOKA” shoes. The dog has to be walked, so, as usual, I just got on with it.
I woke up Friday, and “boo-boo foot” was on fire, the whole thing red and swollen, the big toe huge with inflammation. I limped down the street with the dog and called my doctor exactly at 9 a.m. to beg for an emergency appointment. I went in at three in the afternoon. He looked at it and promptly sent me to Urgent Care. After a good long wait the doctor there came in, looked at it, and sent me to the emergency room. ‘Oh, for God’s Sake,’ I thought, but I dutifully reported to the waiting room at Cedars-Sinai.
Things drug on for hours as boo-boo foot took a back seat to all manner of emergencies.
There were folks there having what they call a “code gray,” which is a stroke and such, and they rightly trumped my sorry state. When they finally took me back to the emergency room, I was shocked by the state of things. There must have been thirty hospital beds lining the hallways outside where the actual rooms exist. Folks were hooked up to IV’s and covered with blankets, waiting for some kind of meaningful intervention. I joined them on a bed of my own in the hallway.
GET IN GEAR.
After two freestyle attempts with a needle, which got us nowhere except bruised, the nurse finally wheeled up a vein finding contraption–a device that locates good veins with sonar or some such. Success. Wonderful machine! I am going to beg my docs to get one. The vein search is never easy and almost always downright unpleasant. As instructed, she took a ridiculous amount of blood then set up the port for the long-awaited IV antibiotic that was supposed to fix me up. Another fellow stopped by and drew a line on my foot with a blue marker just below my ankle. He told me that if the swelling went past the blue line, that would not be good news. Hours went by.
‘Alrighty then,’ I thought, wishing I had cadged another treat out of the vending machines in the lobby while I had the chance. I had water, thank goodness, but my phone was running low, and I did not have my charger. I was trying to wait it out, wondering how long it would all take and if I should call Rob, who was watching the dog, to come and bring me one when finally, the attending physician arrived. He was tall and handsome, Hollywood casting. for an E. R. doc. He out-Clooney’d Clooney. That fellow is in the right job in the right town. He said he would have to admit me and keep me overnight if we did the IV protocol. He asked if I would like to take a big dose of antibiotic and go home on the proviso that if the swelling went over the line, I would promise to come back immediately.
“Yes,” I replied emphatically. “I went to two other places trying to avoid coming here. I mean, no offense, doc; you are all lovely and competent and the atmosphere is divine. This hallway is especially fetching, but I will absolutely take my chances and skedaddle and watch the blue line.” He smiled a big, white-toothed smile and set the wheels in motion.
I was outta there in another hour or so. I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I limped home, wincing with every step and swearing up and down. The anti-auto dam was breaking. Walking everywhere is great if one can actually walk. Not so fun with “boo-boo foot.”
I tried to think it all through. I would have to get up the next morning and limp around with the dog, and then walk another twenty minutes to CVS to pick up the prescription for the rest of the week. I couldn’t take it. No one was even sure that antibiotics were the right call. Who knows what is going on in my crazy body? I am going to have to drive again, I thought. As seldom as possible and with as much focus as I can muster, but I have to do it.
“Lolo,” This is what I call Laura most days, “I need a car. I can’t cope without one anymore,” I said, utterly exhausted. I explained what had gone on in the past ten hours.
“Ugh, sorry, sis. I’ll pick you up in the morning. We will get your meds and then go get a car.”
Maybe this is a rescue story after all.
The next morning, I limped into her car, and we set off to Highland Park, where she had a bead on a 2008 Honda CR-V. I was brimming with hope. The dealership was a bit dodgy-looking, but we were greeted by a nice enough fellow. They had to jump the car and move about twelve others to even bring it out for a test drive. A bit odd that; the car, though, was a beauty. 80k miles on it and built in Japan. Laura test drove it, as I would have no idea what to look out for. She liked it but was hesitant about a few of the systems. The air conditioning was a bit wonky, and the car pulled quite a bit to the left. They wanted 12k for it. Way too much, but otherwise, it fit the bill.
“Guys, the car is overpriced, but we like it. Let’s talk,” Laura said.
There were three guys in the office, and one threw up his hands.
“How do you know it’s overpriced?” he demanded to know.
“We looked it up. We know what it’s worth.”
“Oh, they are so smart. The Blue Book! They looked it up in Blue Book!” he said sarcastically.
They all shook their heads at the stupid women they were being forced to abide.
“I will buy it right now,” I said, “nine thousand.”
They muttered, and shook their heads, and waved their arms dramatically.
“Let’s go, sis. No car today.”
We politely took our leave and headed back towards L.A. We were both starving, so we stopped to grab a bite. During the meal, Laura decided to try one more thing. She put a description of the car we had just driven into Cars.com and pressed search. Bingo. There was one in Van Nuys at an independent dealership listed for … you guessed it. Nine thousand.
Jimmy met us near his tiny office on Sepulveda Blvd. The car was in great condition and well-priced, with only 120K miles on it, and all praise, it was built in Japan. Laura loved the way it handled and the fact that it had been well kept up by a single owner until now. We returned from our test drive, parked in the lot, and looked at each other.
“We'll take it,” Laura announced as we got out.
Jimmy led us up to his tiny office, and I handed him my ID and credit card.
“You are so much like the actress Beth Broderick. SOOOO much. It’s unbelievable how much”
“Um, well, there’s a reason for that,” I said.
“It’s you!!! Oh my God. I watch you in my country. I watch you all of the time.”
Jimmy hails from Lebanon. Good to know that I’ve got game in that joint. He was truly flustered. Papers kept slipping from his hands as he fumbled his way through the process, but soon the transaction was complete. Lolo and I took Sepulveda all of the way home, me following close behind. I was not ready yet for the 405 freeway. I called Laura incessantly as we drove. We were both excited, and Laura felt rightly triumphant. She had at last gotten me into a car–the exact car that I wanted for the exact price we knew that I should pay.
I am still using transit whenever possible and most likely will not ever drive at night. I confess that I have enjoyed the freedom of simply jumping in the car and going where I want to go when I want to go there. Sunday, I went to Home Goods for the first time in almost two years and spent an hour wandering dreamily down the aisles. There are negatives, of course. My cupboards are already full to brimming, and the freezer is packed. It is easy to overbuy when you can just shove it all in the trunk.
I have made a vow to do better, to buy less, and be more careful.
Boo-boo foot is still giving me fits, but I guess that’s just part of the deal now. I have a wacky disease, and weird things are gonna happen. My evening in the emergency room was a stark reminder that many, many folks are dealing with a lot worse things. I’ve got the best problems a gal can ask for …
…and a car which is properly old and was built in Japan. Ya now, Char!
On we go …
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