Stuck Again

By Sharie Derrickson

Last week, I had what is now referred to as “The Incident.” I have more incidences than most people, I think. I attended a meeting in Cape Vincent and on my way home, I remembered that I had promised to call my sister early that evening, so, being the law-abiding citizen that I am, I pulled my car over to make a call on my cellular phone. First, I pulled the car over to the side of the road but thought to myself that it would be my luck that someone’s car would hit a patch of ice and ram into my car because, if it could happen, it would happen to me.

I decided not to tempt fate and instead, pulled my car into a little parking area near the river in the Cape and made my phone call. That part went all right – I mean, I didn’t get electrocuted by my cell phone or explode my gas tank because of the electro-magnetic emission from the phone or anything like that, because if it could happen, it would happen to me.

After a short conversation with my sister, I turned my car around and proceeded to drive out of the parking area when I got stuck. Now, getting stuck in the snow is no new phenomenon for me – hence the reason my husband forces me to carry the cellular phone with me, because if it could happen, it would happen to me – and it did.

At first, I didn’t panic. I had all the survival items that experts recommend you carry with you in case you get stuck in the snow – pork rinds, crossword puzzles, a role of aluminum foil (to wrap yourself in and keep warm with), a yoyo, and of course, a cellular phone because pretty soon, pork rinds and yoyos get boring.

I figured I could just throw the Jeep into four-wheel whatever (I don’t quite get that four-wheel high, four-wheel low, and that gear ratio thing) and I would be able to get myself out of the situation – like I did the week before, and if not, I would just call my husband who can then go borrow a big truck and pull me out – like he did last week. But then, I heard it – a sound so terrifying, Alfred Hitchcock would make a movie using it if he were still alive. “CRRAAACCCKKKK.” It sounded like a giant sheet of ice was cracking. I had heard about this sound and saw it in the movie Titanic, and a couple of National Geographic shows, but it sounded even more ominous when heard in person. I thought to my self, “Hmmm. The ice on the river must be beginning to break up.”

Then, I heard it again, and I got out of my car to investigate, because that’s what reporters do – they investigate stuff. As I got out of my car and stepped into the three-foot snow bank my car sat in, I heard the noise again, but it was coming near my car. I began to dig around my tires with my hands hoping that digging out some of the snow would help me get out and I wouldn’t have to call my husband, when I saw that under my right, front tire was nothing but ice. Then I heard it again – CRRRAAACCCKKK.

“OH NO,” I screamed. “I AM ON THE &$@*& RIVER. I DROVE MY CAR ONTO THE %#)^$ RIVER. I’M DEAD,” I thought to myself, knowing my husband was not going to be too pleased. I remember sitting on a pair of his sunglasses and breaking them once and he was pretty mad about that. How was he going to feel when he finds out that I put his car into the bottom of the St. Lawrence?”

I began to dig even more furiously, hoping that somehow, some way, I could figure the whole mess out and I wouldn’t have to call him so that he would have to go borrow a crane. After my hands were frozen, I decided I should get back into the car and think things through. “Let’s see, if I were McGyver, what would I do?” I asked myself.

“McGyver isn’t stupid enough to drive his car onto the river,” I answered.

“Oh, shut up,” I said.

“Alright then, what can I use to get some traction?” I said. “You don’t have much in here except a bag of pork rinds, some foil, a puzzle book, and a yoyo. Can you somehow devise a pulley system?”

“No – that’s a pretty stupid idea,” I said. “But, you could sprinkle the pork rinds around the front tire and see if they give you some traction,” I said to myself.

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You did, you dope. Now go start spreading those pork rinds around.”

So, I got out of the car, packed pork rinds around my two front tires, then gave the car some gas. Nothing happened. I got out and saw pork rinds scattered everywhere, but my car was still in the same place. “Think, Sharie, think.”

I got back into the car to get warm and to munch on some of the scattered pork rinds I had picked up when panic struck. “What if the tail-pipe is buried and I die of carbon monoxide poisoning as I sit here and eat these pork rinds and play with my yoyo. “I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS CAR,” I screamed. “GET OUT NOW – YOU WILL EITHER GO THROUGH THE ICE OR GET POISONED. Uh, and don’t forget the yoyo because they are pretty fun and will keep you occupied as your car sinks to the bottom of the river, and you have to wait for your husband to come get you.”

After about ten minutes of freezing outside the car, and my hands becoming too numb to play with my yoyo, I decided I had to call my husband. I dialed his number on the cellular phone.

“Hey. Hi honey? How are things going at home?” I asked.

“Pretty good. What are you doing?” he asked.

“Well, not too much really. I’m playing with my yoyo and hoping you could come pull me out again.”

“AGAIN?” he said.

“Yeah, again – but see, there’s a hitch – uh, well I pulled the car over to call my sister on the cellular phone, which I did and we had a nice conversation, by the way, and then, when I went to turn around, I got stuck.”

“So where’s the hitch?”

“Well, see, I got my car stuck on the river and now I hear cracking sounds, and I tried to use pork rinds for traction, but that didn’t work, and well, I’m cold, hungry, and my yoyo is frozen to the palm of my hand so could you come get me?”

“CRACKING SOUNDS – ON THE RIVER!”

“Yeah, sorry about that – but can you come get me and possibly the car if it is still here?”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.

Just then, a “Good Samaritan” pulled up in his truck. “Hey lady, did you know you pulled your car into the boat ramp?” he asked, smirking. “It’s a little late in the year to be launching a boat don’t you think?” he said, smirking even more

“Yeah, my husband is coming. He’s bringing a truck and his scuba equipment.”

“Okay then” he said, waving goodbye.

Just then, my husband and cousin showed, and just shook their heads as they hooked up chains and stuff to my car and pulled me out of the boat ramp.

“I was so scared,” I said, hugging my husband. “I could have died?”

“You’re okay now,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

“Honey,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You didn’t eat dinner?” he said.

“No, the car ate my pork rinds.”

He looked at the crushed pork rinds scattered in the snow. “You want to tell me what that is all about or should we just go home.”

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay, but I’ll say one thing for you – if it can happen, it will happen to you.”

I hate it when he’s right.


© 2006 Sharie Derrickson. Previously printed in the Thousand Islands Sun.