The Moment I Cried at the Auto Body Shop

Yes, it's true.

I cried.

At an auto body shop.

It's not my proudest moment, but it was a bit of an awakening for me.

I was in a car accident over a month ago.

I have not seen my van in over a month.

We were told a couple weeks ago that it would be ready on Friday.  I almost cried at that lovely news.  I was so thankful.  Then Friday came.  No van.  It didn't "pass alignment."  I was told it would be ready that next Monday.  Monday came.  No call.  No van.  They had to "get approval from the insurance before they could order the part."  We were told that it would be fixed quickly after the part came in.  The week started passing, and we were told that it would be ready on Friday.  We got a call on Friday telling me it would be ready later that day.  Later that day came, and we were told something else was now wrong.

Guess what?  They again had to "get approval from the insurance before they could order the part."  We were starting over.  I called this morning to find out when we may get to see our van again.  I didn't get a return phone call.

I wanted to tell them (maybe shout--kindly, of course) that I don't have a giant van for the fun of it.  I need my van.  I have a lot of kids with 5 car seats.  Only certain vehicles can hold 5 car seats, 6 kids, and 2 adults.  I wanted to tell them (maybe shout) that 4 of my kids are foster kids with tons of appointments.  I wanted to tell them (maybe shout) that renting vehicles big enough for all of us for only part of the time they had our van was costing us thousands of dollars, over one hundred dollars every single day.  Each time they say, "oops, we found something else we need to fix," it is adding another week to the time they have our van and costing us tons of money and stress.  

But they didn't call me back.

What's a girl to do?

I decided that I would just show up with all my kids and ask for an explanation.  I wanted them to see me with all my kids, hoping that it would shock them into working hard to get my van back to me.  I asked for written documentation about when work was started and why.  I asked for written documentation of each date the insurance adjuster came.  I asked for documentation for each new repair they found needing done and when.  I asked when I would get my van back and was told, "blah, blah, blah. (see above quotes)"  I clarified by asking if she meant that we are back at square one with no idea when we will get it back, and she said that I was correct.  I asked for a manager's name and number.

Then I asked for my GPS out of my van.  After she couldn't find it, she told me that I could get it myself.  I could see my van after a month away from it.  I followed her back to the ridiculously crowded service area.  At this time, I asked her if they ever turn away customers when they are too full, and she replied, "Oh, no!"  I let her know that we had called another repair shop that told us they could not look at the van for 2 more days, so we decided to go with them instead, only to find out they didn't look at our van for about 10 days.  The warning would have been nice.

Anyway, back to me seeing my van and losing it.

Oh, my van was a beautiful sight!  I opened the door, and it hit me.  It fully hit me why I was so upset when we were told yet again on Friday that my van would not be ready.  I usually roll with the punches pretty well, and I had no idea why I felt like I was in mourning on Friday night.  One look inside, and I knew.

My van is my second home.  I spend a ridiculous number of hours a week in that van, getting kids here and there and sitting in front of CPS, waiting for a parent who may or may not show up.

My van has a trash can where I can reach it.  My van has tissues in just the right spot.  My van has a cup with pens and pencils and scratch paper, and a spot for my sunglasses.  My van has a cubby for my GPS and tall seats where all my bins of extra diapers, books, toys, snacks, and emergency supplies fit perfectly.

In my van, I have stability.  I worked hard to make sure that things are there when I need them.  It's a second home.  Each time I get in, I know that I will have what I need when I need it.

I have been living in and out of various rentals that have each been fancier than my giant beast, but none of them are mine.  The one we have now, and just extended the rental of for another couple days, has all sorts of buttons where I can heat my seats and move my mirrors all the way to one side and have air flow only to my feet until the temperature on my side is 74 degrees.  The last rental I had included a camera that showed up in the rear view mirror whenever I was in reverse.  All of them have had radios that get more than one station.  All of them have steps that make it easier to get inside.  All of them have fobs that unlock all the doors with a click when mine requires you to use the key in the hole.  They are all technically higher dollar vehicles than the one I long to have returned.

None of them are home.

I also have been having to rely on others, which stinks.  I have to rely on Jon to figure out how to pick up a rental if one is needed for a certain week, or to come home from work (when he has a million things he should be doing there) so I can get Child A to Location 3 on time.  I have to rely on rental places to have something big enough to fit us all, which is way more complicated than I thought.  I have to rely on my sanity to carry me through those days/weekends/weeks when we have decided we can do without a rental, and I'm thoroughly stuck at home.

When I lost my van, I lost my controlled environment AND I lost my autonomy.  I knew I was upset, but it took one brief look inside my van to realize why.

So, I cried.  Mechanics saw me.  The lady who is the go-between saw me.  My kids saw me.

I realized that there is so little I can control in my life right now, and they have held hostage for over a month one small thing that gave me a feeling of control.   Am I a control freak?  Mayyyybeee.  Do I need therapy for crying at the sight of my van in such a public way?  Probably.

But, you know what?  It felt good to understand myself better in that moment.  It felt good to know why I have felt lost and trapped.  I'm glad I traipsed all those kids into the service shop, even if the go-between was unphased and unhelpful, and the mechanics won't work a drop more quickly, and management won't cut my bill in the slightest.  I grew up a little today, and that's a good thing.

Now I have to decide if I should go back tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And the next day.

Until they give me my stinkin' second home back.

Or maybe I'll relax, take it day by day, realize they are humans, too, and maybe even doing their best.  It's admittedly a tough choice.