We were about 40 miles outside Albany when the temperature gauge started spiking and we crawled along to Saratoga Springs (mile marker 34.6-- how many times did you have to say that to the people at AAA, Daddy?) before smoke started pouring out of the engine and our poor little car took its last breath. After a long and frustrating phone call to the dopes at AAA who insisted on spelling Bridport like the CT town ("NO G! There's no G"), the tow truck arrived well after dark.
It might have been fun riding up in the big cab, except for the fact that trailing behind that big cab was a $3000 estimate and a ticking clock, which gave me about ten minutes to make it to the station.
We got dropped off at a Byron's Mobile in Saratoga and Tom was very helpful in throwing a phone book at us so Daddy could inquire after a rental car. Unfortunately, neither Hertz, Enterprise or any other company had after hours rentals, and it looked for a moment like we were up the creek without a paddle.
Turns out you don't need a paddle when you can ford the creek with a U-Haul van.
Daddy rented the van and we hauled ourselves to NYC, arriving at 139 Calyer St shortly after 11:30 pm.
I worked all day yesterday, and Izzy's parents got home at midnight, so they got me a car service to take me back. My driver was Mike, a 250 pound Italian guy who proceeded to tell me how light he was on his feet. He was a boxer, he'd been boxing for 24 years; "I'm forty-four now. I don't look it because boxing keeps me in such great shape, but believe it or not, I'm forty-four." (I believed it).
He trains kids in his neighborhood to box, for self defense. Ernesto is his best student.
"One day Ernesto comes into my class, and he's all black and blue, ya know? And I say, Ernesto, your dad done this to you? And he just starts crying, ya know. And he says, 'he come home drunk again,' and I says, 'no one hits one of my students, ya know?' and so i goes over to Ernesto's one day and I wait for the father to come home, and he's sober, right? And this is a good thing, 'cause I want 'im to retain what I got to say. and I says, 'what's your business beating up a nine year old kid, huh? I know this might not be my business, but I gotta be concerned when I see my student come to class with a bruise on his face-- i know it didn't come from me or the other students, cause we respect eachother, see?' and Ernesto's dad, he says, 'he's my kid, i can do what i want.' and so I punch him. Just deck him across the jaw, ya know? and he falls on the ground and I says, 'that's what Ernesto feels like. Don't you forget it.' and you know what? Ernesto's 12 years old now, and his father hasn't touched him since. and ya know what? me and his Dad, we get along fine now. he's in that Alcoholics--whaddya call it?-- Alcoholics annonymous, yeah that's it. and he goes to church now. And Ernesto and I gonna go to a match in Jersey next weekend."
okay Mike, good luck with that.
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