“I’m in trouble”: A case study in “HE said, SHE said”

Once again, I gladly take a back seat and let someone else do the driving. This time, the guest writer will receive credit for their contribution. We have joked about it from time to time, but now it is the wife’s turn to be heard, and here is what she has to say . . . Enjoy.

So it began as a normal day in my oh so boring life. Up at 7:00, out the door by 8:00 with two kids in tow breakfast round number two in hand. Dropped the kids off at school, successfully avoiding all the dog poo on the sidewalk, and then clocked in for another long day at the office. I didn’t have much of an exciting day planned- a few meetings and the to-do list that is too long to ever accomplish. Lunch was to be a nice trip to the local boulangerie with a few friends to practice my French. Other than the wrong choice of a sandwich for lunch, all was well.

Then, during a meeting with a woman from another department my phone started to ring. In an attempt not to be rude, I just let it go to voicemail. But after the third call in a row we decided I should probably answer it. I have always told my family that if you truly have an emergency then call me several times in a row in the event of such an occasion. So I answer, and immediately hear a panicked “I’m in trouble!” Now my husband is usually the calm one of the group so I knew this couldn’t be good. Like most of you, I immediately started thinking the worst- arrested by the Gendarmes and now in a jail cell I have no idea how to get him out of, lost the son’s dog, or worse. I just simply replied “What’s wrong?” knowing I most definitely had an audience. “I’m in a ditch,” he replies. Ok, simple enough this is something I can deal with. The next logical question is “where are you?” Never did I think I would hear the family navigator say “I don’t know.” What do you mean you don’t know!?! How the hell can a person not know where they are?

I can tell you how. With too much time on his hands, and tired of making the same drive day after day my dear husband decided to let the British woman on Garmin show him a more scenic route to school. And scenic it was. In completely the opposite direction of where he wanted to go, Garmin was now trying to direct him onto the main highway leading to the town where the school is located. However she must have forgotten to take her “vit-a-mens” this morning, and her memory was lacking when she instructed him to turn right on a dirt road. It’s the rainy part of the year here in France, and we haven’t seen sunshine in over a week in a half. So the hubby quickly realized this was not a navigable path and would turn around in a grass driveway leading into a field. Good plan, if he hadn’t missed and backed the famous 206 into what he referred to as a “ditch.”

So now we have two problems, a lost husband with no means of transportation and the kids getting out of school in a short half hour when I usually have about 4 more hours of work left in my day. Since the hubby sincerely had no idea where he was, I decided maybe he should revert to the reason he got in this mess- the Garmin. With GPS coordinates in hand, I was confident all would be fine. So I brought up google maps to determine his location in order to formulate a rescue plan - but how the hell does a person find a place on the map with GPS coordinates while you have an angry husband on the phone and a French lady standing there waiting for you to finish so we can resume our discussion? Thankfully, a colleague who has helped us out on several occasions, came to the rescue. After determining his location, my colleague even offered to pull the hubby out of the ditch.

Great- plan formulated. I told the hubby I’d get the kids and then my colleague and I would be out to get him. It was at this point, that he says with all seriousness that he’s not sure he can be pulled out with another car. You see this “ditch” was more like a ravine. The 206 was sitting at a 45 degree angle. Oh boy. Well, we couldn’t send a tow truck to GPS coordinates so we had to stick with the plan. At school, the youngest was mad it was Mom picking him up and not Dad, but the eldest was grinning ear to ear when I told him we had to go rescue Dad.

A good 20 minute drive later, and we arrived to the place where we should have seen the hubby and the car. As I was calling to again determine his location, he calmly walks up a 30 foot embankment that supports an overpass. My first thought- you’ve got to be kidding me! Thankfully this was not the “ditch” that contained the 206. As we rounded the corner at the bottom of the embankment, there she sat. All you could see were the front bumper and the tires. The rest of the car melted off into the “ditch.” To be honest he was lucky the opposite bank was there to keep him from flipping over!

A few laughs later, and one good tug from our friend, and the 206 was freed from her resting spot. I guess I’ve just got the big kid to prepare me for the other two and the numerous “I’m in trouble” phone calls I’m sure to get in the future. Until the next time I get a heart stopping call…. The wife 

And now for the truth. While yes it is true, that this afternoon found me in a bit of a sticky situation with the trusty 206 somewhat perpendicular to terra firma on a back road in Western France, there are two sides to every story. I will skip with the pleasantries of the beginning of my day and get right to the meat and potatoes. Truth be told, I have on more than one occasion found myself fairly lost at the hands of our lady Garmin, but with an extra half hour or so of free time, I decided to let her do the thinking and deviated from my usual route to the neighboring town where the boys are to be collected from a long day at school. I knew ahead of time that she has a predisposition for the scenic route, so I thought it would be a nice way to see the sights and unwind after a day full of laundry and dirty toilettes. It all began innocently enough. Leaving the beaten path, I was initially quite pleased with my decision. She seemed to be leading me in the exact wrong direction, but the narrow winding back roads of French countryside made for an exhilarating drive. Coming up to a notable highway overpass, she demanded a right hand turn and I obliged. Almost immediately, she changed her mind and began to recalculate as I skidded onto an unpaved road leading to parts unknown. Inside of a quarter mile it was apparent that she wasn’t going to be able to get us out of this mess, so I called her a few names and began evasive maneuvers. In the end, perhaps too evasive indeed. In a hurry, and now certain that I would be late to gather the boys from school, I threw the old 206 in reverse for a nice batmobile turn about and promptly found myself teetering on the brink of disaster. The back tires sunk off into a bit of a ditch, so I quickly threw her back into 1st to power my way out of the undergrowth. Unfortunately, it was a little too little, a little too late.

In an excruciating battle of will, I punished the motor of my little 206, urging her to remember her rally car roots and forget the insurmountable force of gravity. It was a battle we were not winning and the moment I let off the throttle we began our unceremonious decent into hell. Upon later inspection, the wife indicated that it appeared that I slammed my beauty into the “ravine” at a breakneck pace. This could not be further from the truth. The process was slow and painful. Plenty of time for me to sit helpless in the driver seat and beg my little compact not to flip over backwards into to what was . . . well, ok, it WAS a bit of a ravine. She teetered for a moment and then the world became dark. With an unpleasant thud, I found myself facing skyward in what felt to be launch position. Ahead of me, gray skies. Behind me, darkness. It was time to bail, and bail I did. I threw open the door, grabbed the essentials from the car and in the end, found the bottom of the ravine to be filled will a mélange of water and what I believe to be open sewer. With one shoe, now very wet and uncomfortable and my legs torn to shreds from thorn bushes, I clambered my way back to the gravel road from which I came. 

 Gathering my senses, I called my only life line . . . the wife. “Pick up, Pick up, please Pick up” . . . shit . . . voicemail. Hang up and redial. Praying she was not away from her cell phone, I continued to redial. After three failed attempts, she finally answered. Could have been worse, I thought to myself. Not really knowing how to segue myself into this latest turn of events in my life, I thought the best approach was to be direct. “I am in trouble.” I commented. “Could you pick up the kids?”. “Ok, why?” she asked. And so began a short conversation as to how I Wiley Coyote’d my 206 into a ditch just outside of God knows where. She could have really made me pay.  She could have called me names, but she didn't.  The wife ALWAYS takes the highroad .  She simply asked my location, and yes, I was at a loss for words. I didn’t really know. Somewhere between here and there I thought to myself, but kept my big mouth shut. Believing that the stupid fucking Garmin might have a clue, I scrambled back down into the ravine to retrieve it from the dash. Almost immediately, the low battery indicator flashed and I did my best to describe the closest cross roads before the screen went dark. And so, I began walking. With my hands quite full of my phone, the GPS, a bottle of water (basic survival) and an IPad, I began to trek my way back toward civilization. Despite giving them the exact GPS coordinates, the wife and one of her collegues couldn’t seem to figure out where I was any more than I could. After walking a mile or so up the road I located a village sign and proudly advised them of what town I appeared to be in. Small problem . . . it didn’t appear on any of their maps. Finally I came across a mail box and street name so as to provide them with an exact address for the much needed rescue mission that they were about to embark on. Now, under normal circumstances and on my own, I would have simply walked up to the house and asked for assistance. Unfortunately, my French being what it is, I could hardly convey my circumstance in such a way as to not have them slam their door in my face. The fact that I was in the middle of nowhere and all the houses seemed equipped with a rather large German Shepard at the watch didn’t make this option any more viable.

With a proper address, my wife felt certain that she could locate me and would do so as soon as she had collected the children. There is a little something to note here as an aside. The shortest days of the year arrive here in France much earlier than they do back home. We are a week earlier into daylight savings and it gets dark fast this time of year. Night was nearly upon us and I felt a long way from any assistance despite the assurances from the other side of the line that help was on the way. I decided while I waited, it might be best to get my bearings in the event I had to Bear Grylls my way out of this predicament. I walked a fair distance in all conceivable directions in an effort to determine which direction was home in the event I had to walk there. I was confident I could make the journey by daybreak the following morning if so required. Not wanting to be hasty, I returned to my stranded 206 in hopes of waiting for a more reasonable escape. Now, Bear would tell you that every moment counts and to get moving. This kept running through my head as the minutes ticked by. I even began visually scouting the neighboring woods for rotted trees from which I might be able forage a grub worm or two in the event my hunger got the better of me. Thankfully, my phone did eventually ring again and the wife indicated that the thought they were getting close. They couldn’t see me, but I could see them. I told them that they had arrived and that they needed to take the next left. With less effort than I had anticipated, we soon had the 206 freed from her semi-watery grave. With a bruised ego, bloody legs and the beginnings of jungle rot on my right foot, I drove back home to call this one a day. Note to self, fix busted tail light and re-affix the rear bumper . . . all’s well that ends well. R.