Sunday, May 20, 2012

PSA: Getting Your Car Appraised is the Kiss of Death

This is a public service announcement about getting your car appraised because THIS is what will happen:

The Husband and I got his big, beautiful F350 appraised on Thursday. We originally bought it because we thought we were moving to CO and needed lots of power to haul things in the mountains. Since we didn't move, and our area of Texas has no mountains, we wanted to explore the possibility of selling or trading the truck for something a little more economical and Texas-friendly. (By the way, because TH always gives me shit about the mountains in Texas, I'm here to tell you there ARE mountains in Texas and I have climbed the highest one -- Guadalupe Peak. So there, TH! Nanny nanny boo boo!) We went to Car Max because they'll give you that "no hassle" appraisal. It was a reasonable (wholesale) estimate and we shopped for cars within that budget. As we left the showroom, the sales woman (who is apparently an evil sorceress) told us the offer would be good for seven long as we didn't get into a wreck. It was at that precise moment that the curse was cast and we were screwed.

The Husband, The Princess and I planned a quick trip to Waco (about 1.5 hours south) to visit family. Had we known the events that were to transpire, we would have stayed home. We were trailing the motorcycles down with us so we could spend some time riding the back roads near Waco with our cousin. TH left early (the day AFTER the appraisal curse) to get the trailer for the bikes. On his way, some asshole in front of him made a quick, non-signaled U turn (un-signaled? dis-signaled? In other words, the motherfucker never considered using his turn signal.....nor did he stop afterward to see if everyone was alright), forcing TH to slam on his brakes, which caused the screaming man behind him to run into the back of our recently-cursed truck. BLAM! Big F250 hits bigger F350. Even though it looked like the damage to our truck was minimal, ANY damage was unwelcome. But it was drive-able, so we continue with our plans, load up the bikes, and head south. The truck was definitely NOT the satin smooth ride it was prior to the curse. TH thinks the frame may be bent and will take it to the Ford dealership to have their inspectors look it over.

The rest of the trip was great.....hanging with family, zipping around on the backroads.....until the drive home. First, TH left his wallet back at our relatives' home.  Luckily we had stopped on the north side of town to check the bikes and get gas, so the little return trip only added about thirty minutes to our drive. No big deal. Then there was a noticeable shimmy that grew progressively worse.....kinda like watching a drunk woman who thinks she's hot stuff on the dance floor. We pull over again and discover that one of the straps holding my bike has been shimmied in half. At least it was the outer strap, rather than the inner one, because the bike stayed on the trailer. TH uses the strap holding the back wheel and replaces the broken strap on the handlebars.

So we're driving along.....we've made it to the south side of Fort Worth.....almost home. UNTIL.....we see my bike, AGAIN, flop over like it's going to fall into oncoming highway traffic, and right itself. TH pulls over but we are on the two foot wide inside shoulder.....on IH 35.....with cars zipping by at lightening speed. TH, ever the gentleman, suggests that I stay on the inside of the shoulder and/or jump toward the wall in case a car careens into us. Oh, and while I'm at it, would I please alert him if someone tries to run into him as well? problem. I'm rather fond of him and would like to keep him around for awhile, so I play the part of lookout. In my duties, I notice that the trailer seems to lean a little, which I mention to TH, but I figure it's because we're on a slight incline. WRONG! Apparently, the little hiccup that almost sent my bike flying into the traffic was a flat tire on the trailer. 

We pull into a little convenience store thinking air might help, but realize the tire is shredded. Trust me, no amount of air was going to get that tire moving again. By this time, we've been on the road about 2 hours (remember, it's only an hour and a half or less to Waco). We call some friends to rescue us (it's about 11 at a not-so-great part of town), which they did. We left the trailer, our friend drove the truck, and we rode our bikes, finally arriving home around 11:30. Our 1.5 hour trip turned into a three hour trip with all kinds of scary shit along the way. But we made it home safe and sound.....and so did the bikes. Whew!

The moral of this story: DON'T get your car or truck appraised. It will be cursed. You have been warned.

They say bad stuff comes in three's. Have you experienced a series of "uh oh's", "oh shit's" and "oh nooooo's!" all in a row?

Have you been there?

P.S. All humor aside, we are incredibly grateful for God's grace and protection. It could have been bad....really bad. Deo gratias!


  1. Oh Yes.  My moment of the "Terrible Threes" has occurred many times over the course of my life. So glad that no one was hurt during any of your events. The only thing in pain though is your pocket book. Kiss-kiss to all your boo-boos.

  2. Deo Gratias indeed!! Glad everyone is ok. sorry about the evil sorceress...and hopefully all can be fixed and back to original estimate shortly with little expense!! And a glad thanks that you..and the bikes..are ok.
    love yuo!!!

  3. Thanks, Pamela! We have all had a lazy day today.

  4. Thanks, Holly! Whew! Sooooo grateful!

  5. Glad you're all ok!

    I never bought into that whole "comes in threes" idea until this year when, as you know, my husband lost his father, his mother and his uncle (who were all in their fifties) in quick literally within five weeks. 

    So now I am a huge believer in the idea that deaths come in threes, among numerous other superstitions.  Most people are all "Pffft, please," when I get all superstitious.  Mainly my husband when I won't let him "split a pole" with me when we're walking together.  And then I hit him with my whacking spoon (which is a plastic spoon I keep in my purse for the purpose of husband disciplining.)


Yes! I've been there, Claire!