You won't break my soul

But when it rains, it pours.

Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash

I started my Wednesday standing before a judge.

Oh, but don’t worry. That experience, albeit always dreadful, was the least of my concerns. It’s merely a money talk I’ll have with Parker when she’s older, if she chooses.

I ran into a tougher battle after leaving the courthouse. It happened on the streets of Chicago. Literally.

I hit a pothole. But this wasn’t just any pothole. This was a sinkhole, in the middle lane of the expressway, playing “Chicken” with cars in the pouring rain.

The sinkhole won.

I was merging into the fast lane when it happened. A brief turn of my head to check my blindspot was all this monster needed to creep up on me. I swerved. But it was too late.

My front passenger side tire collided with the colossal gap in the pavement, causing my front end to sloppily kiss the street. Picture someone face-planting. Now insert my Camry.

The force from the impact was so intense I couldn’t help but to cringe while gripping the steering wheel. I immediately figured I had destroyed my suspension and probably so much more.

I was only three exits from home. I didn’t make it. Not before a major delay.

The mechanic thought someone slashed my tire.

The funny thing is I woke up Wednesday morning with a strange but strong desire to cancel my car insurance. I’m paying over $150 a month at this point, and I rarely have problems. You can understand why it was a fleeting thought.

The sinkhole set me straight.

It forced me to pull over. I watched as the digital tire pressure meter on my dashboard dwindled until it hit zero. Suddenly, I was thankful to have car insurance. And for what I’m paying, I was determined to use it.

I called my carrier only to encounter an experience that served as another reminder of how the world is rapidly evolving. A live representative sent me to the website to complete my request for a tow truck. I couldn’t believe it. I also didn’t trust it.

As it turns out, I had reason to be leery. I waited 2 1/2 hours on the side of the highway, in the rain, for a tow truck to arrive. My initial wait time was between 70-100 minutes.

A good Samaritan came along a little more than an hour into my wait. He stopped well ahead of me on the right shoulder, where my hazard lights told other motorists I might need assistance. He reversed his beige Malibu slowly until it was just in front of my Camry. He remained in his car for a moment before emerging. Honestly, I was preparing for the worst.

The man, an older brotha, wearing a camouflage jacket and the look of someone who probably did serve our country, strolled around to my passenger side window. I cracked it, cautiously.

“If you’ve got a spare, I can put it on for you,” the man said.

I told him no thanks and that I had a tow truck on the way. He tried to insist, attempting to warn me that the tow truck would charge me. But I’ve got insurance! I reiterated that a tow truck was coming. The website assured me it was between 13 and 43 minutes away.

Thirty-five minutes later, I still wasn’t rescued. I called the towing service. I was told it’d be another 35 minutes.

Frustrated, I called my insurance company back to complain. It took me three times to get a real person. On my first two tries, I got put in check by A.I. An automated answering service apologized for the delay and assured me it would expedite my case. Then “she” hung up on me.

Fortunately, I bought a new vape pen at a smoke shop right after leaving court. It cost $15. I’m tracking all my weed expenses this year and will report back. It’s my biggest money pitfall. But on this day, it was a lifesaver. Because I couldn’t drive anymore, I was free to enjoy my new purchase. It helped to settle my nerves as I waited.

A pleasant tow truck driver named Moe finally arrived at 3 p.m. I hopped in his front seat and listened to him as he shared his life perspective.

Moe told me I was the first Black man he’s seen driving a Toyota. One of those statements prefaced with, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way.’ I didn’t, and I told Moe that it was a calculated decision. He agreed with my logic, saying they’re good vehicles.

The face of a man whose day didn’t go as planned.

It was important for Moe to tell me everything happens for a reason. He didn’t believe it was a coincidence that I hit a pothole and was stranded on the side of the road for almost three hours.

Moe told me he applied for a job at a convenience store in 2014. He was a new father to a baby girl. But he didn’t get the job and was discouraged even though the job didn’t pay much. The next day, the man who got the job was shot and killed in a robbery. Moe’s carried that with him since. He feels that could have been him — but it wasn’t supposed to be.

After all that, we pulled up to my chosen repair shop, the one that hit me for $2,500 last summer. But I didn’t know that shop didn’t do tires. I thought I needed their suspension work too, but first I needed a tire. So the shop’s owner shooed me and Moe away.

A mom and pop tire shop just south fixed me up without a wait. I settled on a used tire to replace the front passenger tire that got punctured. It cost $67.98, including a 3% service fee for using my credit card. It was all I needed. My rim was sound. There was no other structural damage.

I even returned my car to the first shop to check my suspension. I was hearing rattling before Wednesday’s incident. I was ready to dip into my freedom fund to remedy the noise. But the mechanics didn’t see any issues.

A day that started bad and quickly got worse ended up being only a minor setback. It was a puddle, not an ocean, even though my emotions ran deeper than the Pacific.

The consequence of losing “Chicken” with a sinkhole was a severed tire, 68 bucks and hours wasted in a day I’ll never get back.

But I won’t think about canceling my car insurance again.

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