The Man with No Thumb
Once upon a time, in a land 896 miles away, Wesley and I were gearing up for a trip to the dog park. It was a hot H-O-T summer day with a humidity level so high you could nearly see the beads of condensation forming mid air. I, mentally preparing to sweat through my shorts, barely finished opening the car door before Wesley sprung into his rightful position as Captain of the Back Seat. I assumed position of chauffeur & we pull out of the drive.
SCREEEEECCCHHHHHH
The most horrible noise comes from somewhere inside Daisy! (That’s the name of my sweet Subaru.) Ol’ girl lets out a noise worse than nails on a chalkboard. It goes away soon enough but rattles my eardrums again as we come to the red light. Gone again as we accelerate…Hm? By this time a few people in the cars around me were slinging dirty looks my way. Another red light. I tap the brakes and SCREEEEEAAEEAAEEEAAACCCHHHHHHH! I might not know much about cars, but I’m pretty sure that a blood curdling screech is not a good thing. Captain Wesley and I pull over to the side of the road, sweating as soon as our six feet hit the concrete.
…TWO HOURS LATER…
I’m so incredibly lucky to have a father that helps me know what to do about car trouble from across the country. I’d like to take a moment and fully acknowledge what an incredible blessing that is! (Love you, dad.)
There Wes & I stand, butt’s officially sweated off, as a tow truck pulls in next to our honorary parking spot. Out drops this man who truly looks like he’s from that TV show, COPS. But… not one of the cops… one of the other guys. Bippaty boppity boom, Miss. Daisy was loaded up in no time. There was only one issue. Me and Wes standing there with no ride, no Ubers close by, and one boyfriend (at the time) who was about a 10 hour drive away. I had been asking him to learn the art of teleportation for a year at that point but alas, no luck.
Y’all have to remember it was hella hot outside! The driver must have felt bad for my pitiful self (& bleak chances of transportation) because after a moment of contemplation, Wesley and I climbed up into our very first tow truck. Only after I promised to not tell anyone about this rule breaking ride, we headed to the dealership. Try and put yourself in this scenario:
Hot day
LARGE sweaty man
Less large sweaty Gracen
Dog panting on my lap
Rickety metal coming from somewhere near my head
And I look over to see 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9…. nine…only nine fingers.
THIS MAN HAS NO THUMB!
I had already been running through the scenarios of how to defend myself when this bearded philistine reveals he’s a serial killer. His thumblessness was just icing on the melting ice cream cake. Before rationality kicked in, I thought to myself
“How did that happen?”
“Dog bite?”
“Bar fight?”
“Chainsaw?”
“REDRUM!?!” (shoutout Stephen King)
“No no, Gracen calm down. You have twice the dexterity. At least you could crush him in a thumb wrestling competition.”
My stomach dropped when he caught me staring. That’s when I knew
“This was a terrible idea.”
