I left the lights on again, about a week later. This time I had learned the lesson and I called a cab. The cab driver was an young African dude. His accent was thick.
He tried to jump the car a couple of times, and of course - it didn’t work. So he suggested we do it “like we do in my country” - I was down. What he meant by that was to push start it (like we had in last incident.)
We pushed it down the road and no go. It wouldn’t start.
He grabbed a guy standing outside some shop. The guy didn’t speak english but the Afican guy had an amazing way of summonsing him with gestures. With the extra man we tried again. It still wouldn’t jump.
At this point the car is in the middle of flushing avenue on a weekday. We are being passed by trucks on both sides. Then, the taxi driver tells me he has to go and in the blink of an eye he’s gone.
I turn to the helper (that was summoned by the taxi driver and speaks no english). I just gave him this look like “what the fuck do I do now!?! …” He pointed to the auto shop across the street like “good luck no getting screwed :)”
For a second I debated whether I should attempt to move the car or if I should leave it there, set it afire, and dance around it. (this wouldn’t be the first time I’d have this exact urge)
So, after lots of thought: I left it and mosey’d across the street to the auto shop.
When I walked in the guy working approach and I told him what was happening. He questioned: “Where’s the car?” Instead of answering him I walked him out through the garage door and pointed to my red bug sitting in the middle of Flushing Ave. After a laugh he whistled to his helper bees and they came out and pushed my car into the garage. Whistling all along. A day later, I ended up paying them for a new battery. Whistling all along.
It was nothing really… Well, I thought it was something at the time. But this was only number 2. There’d be many to go…