Reduced Power

It has been a busy couple of days. Thursday was Tiernan’s last Gymboree class of the Spring session. It is an hour long and does a great job of wearing the boy out so he takes a nice long nap. (God blesses little boys and girls who take long naps.) Because the class is only an hour and we’re only out of the house for an hour and half, I generally do not take a diaper bag with me. If there is any kind of diaper related issue, it will have to be dealt with once we get home, which is at most an hour away. The diaper soiling child will have to stew it his or her own juices until we get home. It may be gross, but it is just easier than lugging a huge diaper bag, which may or may not be needed, all over the place. Call me a terrible father, but there are degrees of gross. And my gross tolerance was high before I became a parent.
So, we go to Gymboree, Dad, Tiernan and Reagan. At Gymboree, Tiernan does he running, climbing, falling, getting tired thing, Dad watches with the knowing smile of man sure he will enjoy a few hours of peace while the boy naps, Reagan sits in her bucket and watches the big kids, coos and sucks her fingers and occasionally falls asleep. Everybody has a great time. Gymboree is great.
After Gymboree we all get buckled in the truck, (a Saturn VUE) and we are headed for home and a relaxing afternoon of napping and laundry.
As we are about to pull out of the parking lot onto Route 17, the VUE stalls and stops responding and all the “idiot lights” come on including “Service Engine Soon” and a new light that says “Reduced Power.”
So we all sit in the truck, 10 feet from the parking lot exit. I curse, “What the F@*k?” Tiernan repeats it. I shut everything down and try to restart. (It works with the computer, right.) It works the truck starts right up and we have full power. “Let’s roll,” I say and we ease out into traffic on Route 17, once on the highway, the truck stalls again and “Reduced Power” rears its ugly head and I can go no faster than 10 mph. “What is this shit?!” I yell. From the back I hear “Shit.”  That is two new words Tiernan has learned today.
So I am coasting along at 10 mph. traffic is whizzing past us, the folks behind us are blowing their horns. Tiernan is in the back saying, “Da, no. No Da. No No.”
Up ahead is a service station. I pull in, crack open the glove box and consult the Saturn VUE owner’s manual in hopes of finding out exactly what, “Reduced Power” means and how I can increase power. According to the manual, “Reduced Power” means that “The vehicle is experiencing reduce power due to some mechanical malfunction. If the malfunction is repair, power should return. If full power does not return, please see a certified Saturn repair technician.”
According to the book, “Reduced Power” means power is reduced. So, just as I had always suspected, the owner’s manual is only really good twice a year. It tells me how to set the clock one hour ahead in the Spring and one hour back in the Fall. Car companies could save a bundle of money if they just printed those instructions in four languages, instead of the 130 pages of uselessness.
Do I really need a light to tell me that power is reduced, I figured that out when I put the gas pedal to the floor and didn’t move. Perhaps… maybe if the machine wasn’t using all power to light up lights that say “Reduced Power,” I might be able to get home.
Now, I sit in the truck shutting it off and restarting and restarting without shutting down and hearing that great high pitched “eckfftpgttptptpt!!!!!” sound that auto engines make when you try to start them, when they are already started. Every time I do this, Tiernan says, “No Dad. No.”
I look at the clock and it is 12:40 p.m. Reagan is going to have to eat in about 10 minutes. No problem, I’ll just feed her from the formula that I put in the diaper bag and….decided…not…to…bring. I don’t have the diaper bag!!!!! A shot of panic flows through me.
No, problem I will just call Gramma and Grampa on my cell phone -- my cell phone, which is currently in my wife’s work bag, under her desk in Manhattan. I DON’T HAVE MY CELL PHONE!!!!!!!! But, I always have me cell phone. I don’t leave the house without my cell phone. I wear special pants, -- Cargo Shorts, see previous post -- which have a specific pocket for the cell phone. How does the car break down on the day that I don’t have the cell phone? “Un-God-Damn-believable!,” I say pretty loud.
“Un-Gon-Damn-bevable,” says my son. That’s three, possibly four new words.
Ok, I am stuck in Paramus, with two kids, under the age of 3 with no diaper bag, and no cell phone. My God what kind of parent I am? Then I think, “This could be worse at least I had the sense to pull into a service station.” I get out and walk over to the attended, I am a little apprehensive about leaving the kids in the car, but what choice do I have? I explain to the nice gentleman about the car stalling, the two kids in the car, and what the owner’s manual says about the “Reduced Power” light and ask him if he can help? And he says, “We only do oil changes.” Naturally. Great. Thanks.
I get back in the car. “Son of a Bitch!!!”
“On nova Bixkch!” Tiernan has learned five new words in like three minutes. It’s a freaking record. Can I get him to say, “Mommy, I love you” to my wife while she’s on the phone? Noooooo. Every day I tell him to say “Mommy, I love you” and I am met with stone silence. I say “Son of a Bitch” once and it’s like he was born to say it.
So, I am stuck in a Paramus gas station, no cell phone, no diaper bag and with one potty mouthed kid and one infant who is about to begin screaming for some formula in vehicle that is, at best, unfit for highway travel.
Tune in later in the week for the conclusion to this story, I assure you that has a twist that is un-f*#cking-believable.
“Un-bubking-beveble.” That’s six new words.