...or "Why I don't think IQ tests mean a darn thing."

I mentioned on Thursday that even though I've been tested a few different times and been found to have an IQ score in the "genius" levels, I don't think that it really means anything because I'm capable of doing completely moronic things. (And no Running2Ks, I didn't even join Mensa, because the idea of a room full of people like me is kind of scary. Hopefully they're not all similarly afflicted, though.)

So, I promised to tell you all the story of how I hit myself with my own car.

Back in the early 90's, when Davin and I were in the "ramen noodles every day" phase of our relationship, we had a really crummy Datsun 1200 with starter motor problems. You know, starter motors cost $35, who has money for that!? So, sometimes it started, sometimes it didn't.

Once you got it going, it was fine to drive, except for the fact that both the floorboards and the exhaust system had rusted out, so the passenger cabin would fill with noxious gases. But, if you rolled the windows down you didn't get TOO sick, and it was better than the car we'd had before this which had no reverse gear...

Back to the Datsun, if it didn't start the regular way, you simply had to get behind the wheel, put the car in neutral, turn the key until the dashboard lights came on, and then get out, pop the hood and use a screwdriver to make a connection between two parts of the starter motor solenoid. Or so Davin says, I just knew where the two places were.

One day I was at a little local gas station in Greeley, Colorado, fueling up my car for the drive back to Boulder, when the car wouldn't start. I gave it a couple of tries but it just wasn't going to turn over. At this point I see a couple of guys inside the service station kind of pointing at me and starting to come out to help me.

I'm sure they had the best of intentions, but at the time the hyper-feminist in me (she's calmed down a lot in the intervening years) came out and was convinced they were laughing at me and I had to show them that a woman could handle a car.

In my haste to get out there and start my own car before they could get across the tiny parking lot and gasp help me, I neglected to put the car in neutral. Just as the guys were within speaking distance of me, I made the electrical connection under the hood and the car LURCHED forward, crashing into my shins. It knocked me backwards out of my Birkenstocks, and onto my butt, gashing and bruising both legs in the process.

To add insult to injury, the car stalled and sputtered, so I had to accept help not only starting the damn thing again, but they also aided me in getting up off the ground and looked at my legs to make sure I didn't need medical attention, too.

Yep, I sure showed them! Showed them I'm an idiot.

Labels: genius