I nearly introduced Ruby a few days ago. Ruby was my friend and roommate (at the time)’s red car. I remember her as a bright red convertible, maybe a classic. But that’s only in my head. In reality, she was a red Mazda RX7, had a roof and a bunch of good times. I think Ned got her when we were living in Columbus. It was probably in the spring of 1995. Time was weird then.

Ned posted part of this story as a comment on my Ruby II post and then I asked him to finish the story and I’ll post it on my blog. Mostly because i can.

So here is the store of Ruby.

Ruby was a Mazda RX7 bought from one of the nicest ladies I’ve ever met. Even though I only met her once, Its impossible for me to forget her name, “Betty Plunkett”. You’d expect there to be a warm apple pie cooling in the glove box with a name like that wouldn’t you?

Ruby lived a full but short life. Remember Holly? I don’t think she ever forgave me for my poor treatment of Ruby.

Ruby safely took me from Columbus to the Indianapolis 500 mile race (as a spectator, not as a participant) and then to Las Vegas and helped me to save my poor mum from the murderous poisonings of an evil, stupid, ex-boyfriend type of jerk.

When mom was safe in a new hideaway apartment, Ruby took me back to NJ (Ruby’s birthplace) via Texas and Tennessee. In Texas we slept at a rest area and woke up 5 hours later with the same ominous black sedan parked behind us. “That’s odd” I thought, “Those greazy tanktop wearing thugs must have needed a night’s sleep too.”

I uncramped myself from behind the hatchback (despite aesthetic remembrances, Ruby was actually a hardtop.) and fell out onto the pavement. As gracefully as I could, I picked myself up and went to the restroom. When I returned and got behind the wheel, I noticed as I cranked the engine that the passenger side thug poked the other thug awake. “That’s really odd!” I thought. “What are the chances that they would sleep behind me for 5 hours and leave at exactly the same time, purposefully even.”

I pulled out onto the highway and they were driving right behind me. I went fast. They went fast. I went slow. They went slow. Hmmm.
I went veerry slow. They nonchalantly passed me. I immediately took the next exit and watched to see what they would do.

Brake lights. Reverse lights. “Those fuckers ARE following me!” I deduced. I went to a convenience store to fill up Ruby with gas and they pulled in not too long afterwards and parked. While they were in the store I used my superior brain cells to memorize their license plate number.

When they came out of the store with their sodas, they popped back into their black car of doom and wasting no time, darted down a dirt road adjacent to the store. I must have laughed, wondering how dumb they thought I was and I waited for them to return. They did creep slowly back in a bit and hid (not so well) behind a delivery truck.

After I paid for my gas and an orange juice I jumped into Ruby and said to her “Lets see how badly they want us, Rubes!” and blasted up the onramp going in the opposite direction as we had come. (Ruby and I were traveling south to Dallas but were now headed north)

The black sedan was right after us and fast too. I was a little nervous about how fast their sedan was. Ruby could only drive so fast and they kept gaining on us. My superior than greasy thugs brain started working again.

I watched the off ramps as I watched the cars approaching on the other side of the median. Then, at the next opportunity after passing an off ramp, Ruby and I did an illegal U-turn through the grassy median to elude the evil yukkoes.

They didn’t follow us! Wusses! HA! Ruby and I sped off into the big Texas morning. About 10 minutes later we were stopped by the police who asked us if we knew how fast we were going. “Yes.” I replied honestly, “I was being chased!” (I didn’t say we because I didn’t want him to think of Ruby & I as insane.)

I gave him the description of the thugs and their plate number and he let me on my merry way. Huzzah!

After a lovely visit with my old friend and college roommate Dino, I commenced to drive north easterly direction.

Sometime during that day, I stopped to get something to eat at a very crowded waffle house. It was noisy with lots of fat truckers eating and bossy waitresses and everything seemed afflicted by a gray sheen. Everything except for this one Cinderella-like waitress. She seemed as out of place as an in color person in a black and white movie. She flitted about doing her job in a delightful manner, unaffected by the drear that surrounded her.

I was mesmerized by her, and watched her surreptitiously as I ate. She wasn’t my waitress, but I was moved to write something to her on the back of the check. (I don’t remember the story now but..) It was a fairy tale about princess who was disguised as a swineherd. (I don’t remember why she was disguised or anything but the general gist of the story was that I thought she was beautiful and looked out of place in this environment.)

I gave the story to my waitress to give to her and left without a glance. Ruby and I blazed off, in a cloud of good music.

After what felt like 19 hours later, I was beat, tired, and otherwise exhausted. I was going to treat myself to a hotel or a motel or anyplace with a bed for once. The exit I stopped at had 2 hotels. They were both of the mighty expensive variety.

The first hotel didn’t have any vacancies. The second place was pricey but I didn’t care. Well, I did care. “How much is your cheapest room?” I inquired.

The gink behind the desk sneered, “90 dollars.” Which back then, to me, was an astronomical price.

“That’s the very cheapest one you’ve got?” I asked incredulously. “No.” the man glowered, “Those are all taken. 120 dollar rooms are the cheapest we have available.”

A bit of steam hissed out of my ears and normally I would have slunk off at the mention of such a price, but his snottiness begged to be challenged. “I’ll take it.” I said, gritting my teeth, wondering how I would afford gas for the remainder of my trip.

He looked down and then back up and said brusquely “I’m sorry, we don’t have any rooms available.”

At that, I did slinnk off in Ruby’s direction, defeated and angry. Too tired to make room in the back, I lay down across the emergency brake and fell fast asleep. It was a delicious sleep, with the most delicious (and I would find out 10 years later, a prophetic) dream. The next morning I awoke with a painful crick in my back and the feeling that something important had happened while I was asleep.

Then the dream came back to me all at once. When it registered, tears of joy began falling down my cheeks. I was in a lavish indoor expanse, an enormous area covered with layers of colorful overlapping carpets. There were deities of all sorts there, mingling about, having a party of sorts. They were the most divine entities I could imagine spending time with. At one point I stopped to admire a crystalline abstract bust. I thought about how much I loved it. The inside of the bust glowed red and I heard it say it loved me too.

(A lengthy portion of this dream was spent with each of the fantastic individuals there. Some were humanoid, others, not so much.)

I went to my area on the floor (I had a pillow or something) and there was a plate of cookies there. They were the most delicious cookies ever! They must have been cookies of the gods. After eating a couple of them, I noticed that all the different gods and creatures were gradually milling out of the place, until I was the last one there, alone, with the plate of cookies. I stood up. As good as those cookies were, I would rather spend time with those beings that were just there and I went to go find them.

At that, I woke up with the crick in my back.

When I drove out of the parking lot, tears still wet on my face, I noticed a vanity plate on a parked car that said “blessed”.

“Wow.” I thought, and imagined that I was given that dream as a gift for having written the nice note to the waitress on the previous day.

-

I was on my way to New Jersey because I was invited back by an elderly woman named Mrs. Capalbo who wanted me to work in her fruit basket warehouse. I had worked there for the holiday season a few years previous and I suppose I made a favorable impression.

That was great news to me because I didn’t want to stay in Las Vegas one second longer than I had to. Living with my mom, working at a steakhouse, commuting in 119 degree weather, was not my cup of tea. (note to reader: even though I worked in a steakhouse cooking meat for others, I was by that time a vegetarian, influenced by my good old roommate Eric, the benevolent host of this site.

Upon reaching NJ, I got myself a little corner apartment in a town called Belleville. The motto there was “Go to Belleville. Go to hell ville.” which was a refreshing change from when I used to live in Belfast, Maine where the motto was “Go to Belfast. Go to hell fast.” Belleville truly was hellish though. Its the only place I’ve ever seen a policeman throw litter out of the window of his cruiser.

One night after a full and tiring day of working at the warehouse. Some young carless friends came by and asked me if I could give them a ride somewhere. I said I would and that I just needed to put on a pair of pants. After I was properly dressed, I went outside with them and mused, “Where did I park my car?”

My friends exclaimed “Some one stole your car! It was parked right here! That’s how we knew you were home!”
“Oh.” Apparently someone had swiped Ruby in the time it took me to put on a pair of pants.
They ran across the street to the tow truck company and told them to tell the police that there was a car theft in progress. My friends sure were street-smart. Not one minute later a cop was there and asked which way they went.

“That way!” My friend pointed towards Newark. My friend hadn’t seen them go that way but he knew that Newark is the stolen car capital of the world and that cops often have to be humored when asking stupid questions.

A few days later the police recovered Ruby and promptly arrested her even though she was completely innocent. Each day that Ruby spent in jail (the crooked impound lot) she had to pay a fine of $25(?). All I had to do was go down to their impound yard and show the proper paperwork. (Title, registration, perhaps a license too…) I’m not sure I had any of those documents to begin with, but I told them that they were in the car when it was stolen- which could have conceivably happened.

It took me about 2 weeks to gather the proof they needed (through whatever government system). When I went to pick up Ruby I had all the proper paperwork and $350.00 to get her out. I was pretty poor back then and I asked if I could see her first, just so that I could be able to see if she was even worth $350. I had no idea what sort of condition she was in. They very rudely told me “No. You can’t see the vehicle.” Can you at least tell me what condition she’s in? “No.”

Infuriating! So I paid Ruby’s bail, not knowing whether she was just a smoldering hunk of metal and for that, they gave me a ‘menu’. This ‘menu’ of sorts was a list of all the fees that one could pay for the following services:

patching a flat tire $15
changing a flat tire $25
jump starting your car $20
towing another car out of the way so you can get your car out- $10 per car
and the list went on for 4 pages, listing every possible thing that they could charge you for. I wish now I had saved that list.

When I finally found Ruby in the labyrinth of convicted cars, she was properly wedged between two other tin lizzies*. There couldn’t have been more than 6 inches leeway on either side. Also, the hood wasn’t closed all the way (I closed it) and one of her ‘eyes’ (headlight) was now permanently popped up. I got in and started her up. Vroom! Alright. There was also a makeshift pipe made out of a soda can resting on the passenger seat.
And for the next 10 minutes did a 400 point turn to properly shimmy her out of the tight space without having to pay those bloodsuckers for a tow.

When I drove out of the gate, the guard (who had previously treated me with such disdain that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had spat in my ear.) was surprisingly friendly to me, asking me if I had any trouble getting her started or moved or anything. I said that I didn’t and drove away slowly, with a confused look on my face.

I was so happy to have her back. She seemed in fairly good condition, she just had a busted lock, a busted ignition (so that any household screwdriver could start her) and a popeye.

That evening I had to make a road trip back to Columbus to be at a wedding the next day. Just before leaving, I thought that I would check Ruby’s lights to make sure they worked. They both popped up when I turned them on, but when I looked at her from the front, neither of them came on! Grrr.

Well, New Jersey isn’t just filled with car thieves, its also filled with car mechanics, (there’s also a Puerto Rican guy named Jaime that would jump over the top of your car for 10 bucks, but I think he jumped over Ruby for free.) So I took Ruby to mechanic after mechanic after mechanic. None of them could figure out what was wrong. I finally took it to (my friend) Phil’s mom’s mechanic who was just closing the shop. There were about 8 mechanics there and they had already started drinking. They were confident that it would be no problem to fix it and they would have me ready to go in a few minutes. As time passed with no results, one by one they gave up. All except one guy who I think wasn’t only super nice, but it really bothered him that he didn’t know what the problem was. He may have spent an hour or more working on finding out what the source of the problem was.

During this time, I was also working on the problem. But first a little background information on my mechanic skills. I am very good at taking things apart. Not so good at putting things back together. My wife has forbade me to ever change the oil in our car again. Even despite the repair costs (of fixing the things that I ‘fix’), I am a danger to myself, and to nature. Once while attempting to shorten a motorcycle chain (why would a rational person try to do this in the first place you may ask), I not only succeeded in breaking a perfectly good screwdriver off in between two links, but I also managed to give myself a nasty blood blister by hitting my thumb with the hammer at the same time.

So I was reading through the manual looking at everything and eventually I saw something curious. Looking in the book, and then in the engine, there was a place where 3 ‘jump rope’ clips go. One was labeled AUX, one MAIN, and one HEAD. There was a clip missing from the one labeled HEAD. After scratching my head, I took out the one from the one called MAIN and I plugged it into the one called HEAD and – “SHAALAAAH” There was light. I was jumping up and down hooting because it was the first time I had ever fixed anything successfully. After showing the mechanic what I had done, I gave him a healthy tip and was about to drive away in a burst of good vibrations but when I tried to start Ruby’s engine nothing happened. Huh.

Well, its a good thing I tipped the man and didn’t rub it in his face that a complete moron fixed my car and he didn’t, because he was nice enough to fashion me a jump rope clip by making one by hand and putting it in. I’m grateful that there are these sorts of people in this world.

During my 10 hour drive to Columbus, I had time to think about all that had happened that day. Eventually, a light bulb went off in my head. The pieces were all there. The extensive ‘menu’ given by the police impound lot. The popped hood. The can placed ever so perfectly on the passenger seat. The friendly departure. The missing jump rope clip.

That guard, or some other person of lesser morals in that cursed lot, had popped the hood of my car, taken out the jump rope clip of the one he thought said MAIN and waited for me to pay $25 for a ‘jump start’ and only then would he furtively pop the clip back in, while pretending to jump the battery. The nerve!

Ruby made the trip with no further problems and a few weeks later after returning home she was broken into again. There was nothing there to really take, but they did take out the cylindrical piece that the key fits into. I can’t see why they would ever take that, but afterwards, Ruby had a real problem. If I started her, she would only stay started if I kept the key (at this point, only an actual screwdriver would fit the bill), stayed at that magic point of ignition. Any more, and she would make that terrible grinding noise that happens if you ever try to start a car that’s already started. Any less, and she would stall out instantaneously, even if we were driving.

Being that Ruby was a stick shift, this made it very tricky to drive. Late at night when there was no other traffic, I retrained myself, thinking that it was a good thing that it was so difficult, because now nobody else could steal her. In order to switch gears, you had to reach with through the steering wheel with your left hand to hold the screwdriver in place, shift with your right hand, and then switch back hands without letting the screwdriver slip out of place. I got pretty good at driving her that way, and we never caused an accident.

I don’t remember what Ruby’s final affliction was. I just remember I couldn’t afford to fix it. I had Ruby towed away and crushed into a cube for 50 bucks. I don’t blame Holly for being mad at me.

As for the prophetic dream, I can’t say exactly how it came into fruition, or how it translates into real life, but I can say it was through the most divine being I have ever met. Here’s a sample of him speaking at the World Economic Forum last year. The panelists were all religious leaders speaking on the topic ‘Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Problems’.

If you have read through all this, than you surely are patient enough to listen to Sadhguru speak for 8 minutes. It is definitely worth listening through to the end. I just love him.

click here to hear what I’m talking about

*-tin lizzie- a model T car, they weren’t really model T’s, but after looking through the thesaurus, it was just too poetic sounding to keep out.

Thanks, Ned!

Related posts:

1. Say hi to Ruby II (and other news)
2. Mary’s story about the flasher
3. The story of the two monks
4. The Story of the Day When Ned called in sad.
5. Short New Vrndavana story – a pipe, some robes and typical weirdness