Well, that was an experience that I had apparently been taking for granted.
(This picture is thanks to street view on google maps, that is not actually my car,
however that is exactly where I got stuck.)
There I sat, on the corner of Byron Center and 28th Street, one vehicle in front of me and several behind me. The light changed from red to green and the car in front of me began to move. Eager to escape the heat and traffic, I excitedly pushed on my own gas pedal. Nothing.
I pushed it again, this time to the floor. The mini van gave one last feeble shake and closed her eyes.
"No." I said out loud.
I pushed harder on my accelerator. She remained still and silent.
"No, no no!" I repeated with increasing volume.
I pushed the button with the red triangles and my hazard lights began to flash.
I thrust my hand out of the open window in an attempt to notify the growing line of cars behind me that this was all I knew to do in such a situation.
"No, no, no, no, no!"
I shifted into park.
I turned the car off.
I turned the car on.
I shifted into Drive. No dice.
Repeat performance with a few more "no"s, and some other choice words. Nothing. I looked into my rear view to see my fellow drivers with their own frustrated hands in the air. Some told me where to go as they blew by me, others simply honked, and one or two cast me a sympathetic look.
Panic. Call Dad.
Dad is the savior of all things car-related. He comes to the rescue when I run out of gas, when I need a jump, when I'm stuck in a snow bank, or when I crash into other cars. He'll even come when I can't figure out how to put air in my tires.
He answered. I told him what had happened and where I was. I asked (about thirty six times) what I should do. Despite my heaving tears and incessant babbling, he stayed calm (he's good like that) and told me that a police officer would be along soon.
By this time two light cycles had come and gone.
Two boys that had been walking across the street came up to my window while I asked my dad (for the thirty seventh time) what I should do.
"We're going to push you." The taller one said.
Unfortunately I was in the inner lane, and traffic was lined up on both sides of me. I smiled through my tears, wondering where the hell they were going to push me.
The boys looked around, looked at each other, looked at the stop light, and looked at D.U.F.F.y. (as that is now the name of my van, more on that at a later time).
"Man, I saw those tears and I knew we had to do something" I overheard the shorter one say.
He went behind my van and stopped the traffic in the right hand lane. The two boys pushed me around the corner and all the way into that CVS parking lot, shown earlier. I thanked them repeatedly, almost to the point of being obnoxious.
I called my Dad two more times. He could not come out, but mama bear did.
As for now, D.U.F.F.y sits in the CVS parking lot, crossing two spaces and leaving me nervous that someone will pillage her for my National City swag, two jackets, umbrella, granola bar wrappers, and my itrip.