The Flyvemaskine Diaries

Being Monday, Brooke and I decided it was time to go see a chick flick (since Eric had no desire to see one) so we ventured down toward Puerto Madero, which Brooke hadn’t yet seen, to check it out. We spent the afternoon walking around, having a coffee at The Coffee Store and taking in “Nights in Rodanthe,” the new Diane Lane/Richard Gere flick. Salty popcorn and blended a strawberry smoothie made me forget altogether that it was Monday. There was even a demonstration going on in San Telmo, which reminded me of old times.

Eric, on the other hand, was at home trying to work. For almost the entire time we watched the movie, there was a car alarm going off outside the apartment. By the time we met up for dinner, he was pretty agitated. He had tried everything - loud music and the television to drown it out. But to no avail.

We had sushi for dinner and ice cream for dessert, walked Brooke home in a leisurely fashion and then returned to our block, where the car alarm was STILL going off. This was bad news, for sure. Then, as if my serendipity, we saw a tow truck parked two spots behind the car. Surely it was there to remove it, right? No, instead the driver was sleeping in the cab. Next to a live car alarm. Eric caught his eye and the driver woke up. Then, not knowing completely how to explain the situation, Eric just pointed to the car. Turns out the driver was there by coincidence, and said he couldn’t remove it from the street. He recommended we call the police. So we did.

Twenty minutes later, the police informed us that they couldn’t do anything to the car because it was locked and wasn’t illegaly parked. The dispatcher offered a deep apology when I asked how we were supposed to sleep, and that was the end of it.

Although it shut off for about an hour in the middle, the real agitation began when the alarm started to go off again around 1 a.m. You could practically feel the tension in the air as the police showed up again, clearly called by another frustrated neighbor, trying to sleep. Just about the time the police pulled away again without solving the problem, we watched a man rip the grill off the front of the car and rip the speakers out with his bare hands. Then, from our seventh floor balcony, we applauded and Eric yelled “Gracias!”

Gracias, indeed. Now it’s off to bed.

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