In less than a week, I succeeded in sabotaging one of the most expensive items in any household: the family vehicle. In this case, that vehicle is a 2008 Volkswagen conversion van (see photo below...I'm working on improving our relationship). I should also mention that this car is terrifying to drive through narrow European streets. While it's turning radius is actually quite good considering its size, I still feel like I am going to run over something or somebody before the year is out. There have already been a lot of near misses with birds. I guess that's better than dogs or small children, though.
Now, before anyone gets too concerned, know that no one was harmed during this incident, and the van was back in commission by the end of the day. Though it did cost 800 euro to resolve the issue, plus the cost of the rental car (it was a BMW, and was a delight to drive. But I probably would have had a speeding ticket if we kept it for too long, so it's good that it was only in my possession for about three hours).
Anyway, it was my very first Tuesday morning here in Germany. I successfully readied the kids for school and drove them to school without getting lost or causing an accident in the process. I was feeling pretty confident and happy in my situation. The sun was shining, birds were singing, I was on the edge of joining them in my own terrible rendition of "The Sound of Music." Nothing was going to bring me down.
Then I saw that the gas gauge was just about on "E". So, on the way back to the house, I pulled into a gas station for what I figured would be a ten to fifteen minute errand tops. I was mistaken.
First of all, it took me about 20 minutes to locate the gas cap in the first place. For future reference to anyone who may ever find themselves in a similar situation, for whatever reason, it is located in between the driver's door and the left passenger door. To access it, both doors must be open. There must be a serious gas siphoning issue in Germany. Once I finally had that open, I searched for a way to pay, since that's how we do things in America. However, in Germany (or at least at this particular gas station), there are no automatic prepay machines at the pump. So I went inside, where a very confused, but fairly attractive young German lad told me that I pay AFTER I fuel up. He also offered to pump the gas for me. I politely declined. In hindsight, I should have taken him up on that offer.
So, I went back to the pump, filled up the tank with regular gas, paid, flirted with that boy a little bit, and headed back to the house. All was right in the world.
For about ten minutes.
Then the engine shut off, and started flashing that scary exclamation point in a triangle sign and I coasted it to the side of the road and threw on the hazards. I tried to start the car twice, but when it kept not catching, I got out and began to evaluate my situation.
I was about 3-4 miles away from the house, so walking was a possibility if all else failed. However, I knew that the car wasn't parked legally, and didn't want it to be towed by the time I found help. I also did not have a working cell phone at the time since my German SIM card was taking its sweet time arriving. So, I began walking around talking to strangers and trying to find someone who knew enough English to lend me their phone or point me in the direction of a phone. Luckily, an older German lady took pity on me fairly quickly and sent me off in the direction of a kindergarten school. I burst into the office, and started frantically explaining my situation to the lady in there. The poor women didn't know much English, but she let me use the phone ("My English is not well but you can use the telephone. It seems important."). I reached Nicole right away, and walked back to the car. While I waited for her to arrive, I started reading the manual (well, as much as I could, as it was all in German...).
On a bad hunch, I hopped out of the car and opened the gas cap again. My siblings and I had always asked my dad what would happen if we ever put regular gas in our 1999 Cadillac DeVille, which likes premium. He always just responded with, "Something more expensive than paying for the right fuel." Sure enough, this was a DIESEL van.
If I was the crying type, I probably would have started weeping right then and there. However, I retained my composure because if I let myself start crying, I wouldn't have been able to stop. I probably would have been begging to get back on the next plane to Chicago had I moved into hysterics.
Thankfully, Nicole was quite kind and understanding about the entire situation. I think she shared in on some of the blame with me; I hadn't thought to ask what kind of fuel it took, and she hadn't thought to tell me (though I guess if I had read the sticker in the first place...). Still, it was a rather tense couple of hours until we learned that the car (or, the bus, as the family refers to it) was fully functional after having the fuel lines flushed out and the filter replaced. It was an expensive fix, but nothing that would break the bank and much cheaper than having the entire fuel system and engine replaced would cost (which was what google scared us with).
So, all in all, not one of my better days. But at least no one was hurt and there was no lasting damage of any sort done. And if that's the worst thing that happens the entire time that I am here, I will count myself lucky. Does this count as a cultural difference? I told Nicole that she needs an insurance policy that covers the ignorance of American Au Pairs. Or, this could have been a common sense issue specific to me. Oh, well. What's done is done, and this is one mistake I will never make again.
Anyway, that's all for now. Hopefully next time there will be no more drama! Tschus!
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