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It’s not that the car is broken down. It’s completely inoperable.

Ten minutes ago, the speedometer dipped down to zero while I was going 50 miles per hour. Then it started jumping — hop up to 50, then down to zero, hop up to 20, fall down. It’s skipping and jumping like a school girl. It would be kind of humorous, if it weren’t so fucking disconcerting. The air conditioning goes weak and then non-existent. I dial it off and roll down my window so I can hear the sound of the engine. It hums along perfectly as if the inside of the car weren’t systematically shutting down like a dying patient. I click the radio off and look down to see that the numbers on the clock have disappeared. The electrical system is dead. I know nothing about cars, but I know they need electricity to work. And I know that I am screwed.

While all this is going on, I’ve been cruising along in the left-hand lane of West Ox Road, a busy but not bumper-to-bumper commuter route in Fairfax County, a DC suburb. The speed limit here is 45, but to avoid being killed at this time of day, you better be going at least 55. Of course, I have no idea how fast I’m going because my speedometer is now resting at zero — tired of all that jumping I guess. There’s a stop light ahead, and I instinctively know that as soon as I stop this car it will not move again, the light turns yellow, the cars in front of me are slowing down. The light turns red. I stop the car, the engine sputters underneath me and there is silence. I click on the hazards.

The woman behind me has made eye contact with me through my rear-view mirror, so she knows exactly what is going on. She puts on her blinker and passes me, using the turning lane to my left — thank you, Jesus for that turning lane — and a parade of cars follow suit. I pull out my phone and dial my wife. I tell her, as calmly and exactly as I can, what has happened, ask her to send my brother-in-law out for help and for her to go pick up the dog from the vet, which is what I am supposed to be doing. I click off the phone and lift my head to see a torrent of cars whizzing past me. I am not exactly at the intersection, I’m about four or five car lengths back so they are surprised to see me sitting here like a jackass while they’re barreling home at 60 miles per hour. They swerve to avoid me.

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