this lemon isn't making any lemonade

A drive anywhere by myself is a rare treat these days as is a grocery shopping trip by myself. I fully enjoyed the quiet in the van and shopping without stopping to pick up my list off the floor after Stella had thrown it out for the tenth time or breaking out the fruit snacks to keep her happy for 2 minutes.

After a long shopping trip of dogging turkey and stuffing seeking shoppers (no turkeys to be found) and a cart filled to overflowing, I loaded everything into the back of the van. I sat down in the driver's seat with a big sigh and moment of regret for not buying anything tasty to drink on the way home. I did have that much needed gallon of bunny tracks ice cream to look forward to when I got home, though, so I quickly put the key in the ignition and turned.

All in the turn of the ignition, the needles on the gauges started jumping around, the lights on the panel started blinking, the windshield wipers came on and sprayed wiper fluid on the windshield, the doors were locking and unlocking and the horn was blaring. I think the only thing that didn't happen was the starting of the engine. I think I laughed. Nothing was funny, but if I didn't laugh, I think I would have truly thought my van was possessed and have run screaming. I waited a moment or two and tried again---nothing but a blaring horn and locks locking and unlocking. Fantastic.

I called Steve at home and he cursed the name of our Lemon of a Van for not the first time, and found the roadside assistance phone number for me. Roadside Assistance sent someone to jump start the van, but he quickly discovered there was nothing wrong with the battery and was only rewarded with a horn in his face when I tried starting the van. The very nice 70-year-old man with very little, if any, teeth offered to drive me home when he found out that Steve couldn't come get me (kids asleep and not enough car seats for them). I politely declined his offer even when he reminded me that he was old enough to be my great-grandfather. I was too tired to make his day by telling him that he was only a year old than my Father.

I called Steve again and we tried to figure out a way to get me and the groceries home. Steve was worried about the meat going bad. All I could think about was my gallon of ice cream slowly melting in the back. Luckily for the groceries, but unluckily for me clad in flip flops and short sleeves, it was a cold night. I called the only person from church I know more than just in passing (she's a facebook friend, how much closer can we get than that!?), but couldn't get a hold of her. I called the only other person I really know here, my long-time Internet friend, Jess. She didn't hesitate to jump in her car and come rescue my ice cream me.

The fate of the lemon is still undecided. This morning it was towed 2+ hours away to the nearest Saturn dealership after other GM dealerships right where we live wouldn't service it (never mind that Chevy has the EXACT van with a Chevy name). All I know is that thing is not giving me any lemonade. At least I still have my ice cream.