Why We Missed Church on Sunday (Part 1 of 4)

Before I left the company of my fellow Scottish band members in Santa Monica around 11:00 p.m. on Saturday I had pulled out my cell phone to call Josh and let him know I was on my way home only to discover that the battery was dead (again). Oh well, I thought, I’ll just go straight home and hopefully get there before anything could possibly go wrong- after all, people lived for centuries without the crutch of electronic devices to get them out of trouble. So I was on my way home, it was dark, it was pouring down rain, and I was wearing a kilt, complete with the knee-high socks and spats over my shoes. Everything was going fine until I started hearing a strange noise coming from the rear of the Corolla. I immediately panicked. This car has made lots of funny sounds and they have all been expensive to fix. I had a quick and terrifying flashback of the time Josh and I managed to fry the car’s original engine because apparently it needed three gallons of oil every twenty miles to keep it from throwing a rod (don’t worry, I don’t really know what that means either- that’s just what the guy said it sounded like when we started the car again). This sound was different though, and it wasn’t coming from the front- which I thought was probably a good sign because even I know that most of the things that make the car go are located under the hood not in the back of the car. Still, there was something wrong and I didn’t even know exactly where I was- somewhere on the 5 Freeway I think. I knew I probably wasn’t going to make it all the way home so I decided to get as far as I could and find a well-lit gas station with a pay phone. This plan did have one flaw though, I didn’t have anyone’s phone number memorized or written down. Not one, I couldn’t think of a single way to get a hold of one single person, especially someone I could call in the middle of the night. The only numbers I had were trapped inside my dead cell phone… To be continued….