Trapped

Yesterday morning I dropped Robby off at school and drove directly to the auto mechanic. The brakes started squeaking and squealing, and the grating sound was only becoming magnified.  Apparently my trying to reason with the brakes to keep working and to stay strong was futile.  Wanting to drive something safe and hoping to beat the Thanksgiving rush, I decided to bite the bullet and make the necessary repairs.

I despise auto repairs. I resent the fact that I have to spend a lot of money and don't have anything fun to show for it. Whether they be brakes, rotors, tires, or batteries, there is nothing fun with the purchasing process. The fact that I'm fairly confident I am always being taken advantage of because of my ignorance does not help the situation!

After doling out an obscene amount of money and wasting two hours sitting in a McDonald's stewing over the bill, my car brakes were successfully replaced. I left the lot frustrated but trying to focus on the positive. My family would be safe and the obnoxious squealing was gone.

It wasn't until I pulled into my garage that I realized that I had a problem, but thankfully it wasn't

mechanical. Somehow the top of my socket had become wedged under the clip of coin compartment on the dashboard. I tried to move my leg but only succeeded in further strengthening the car's grip.

Adjusting the seat had no impact on the position of my prosthesis. Unable to remove my leg and not being able to switch positions, I found myself trapped. After wasting the morning waiting for repairs, being stuck in my car felt like the ultimate insult!

I did the only thing I could think to do: I drove over to Mr. Bill's house and frantically honked the horn until he heard me. I wish I had taken a picture of his face when I explained my predicament. He chuckled, and went through the same seat adjustments that I had just tried. Nothing was working, and I was still trapped in the driver's seat. To make matters worse, I had consumed two large beverages while waiting at McDonalds. I needed to use the bathroom and the situation was becoming dire.

Mr. Bill went into his garage emerging several minutes later with an armful of tools. I felt like he was bringing out the jaws of life to un-wedge my leg. After evaluating his options, he began by positioning a crow bar by my heel.  Tapping the top of the crow bar with a mallet, my leg finally began to shift positions.  After about 10 minutes of pulling, hitting and pushing, I was finally freed.

I have no idea of how I managed to wedge my socket under the lever, but it is certainly an experience I never expected. Thankfully Mr. Bill was there to help me out! I can't imagine the embarrassment of driving to the firehouse and saying, "Help, I'm wedged in my car and I can't get out." This was certainly an amputee experience I never envisioned!