flat tire charade

Another hair-raising event in the hysteria I call motherhood!
The other night the kids and I had gone to church and after visiting Auntie Jessie, we set out for our routine commute from the San Fernando Valley to the L.A. basin. This of course requires driving over the hill on the 405, just south of the 101.

So here I am, with my 3 precious wee children, cruising at 65-70mph downhill, heading into the westside of Los Angeles, when I notice that my car has chosen, without consulting its driver, to glide to the right, swaying into the parallel lanes without the slightest consideration for... well, anyone or anything. Quickly, I decide I don't want to dance this waltz, when I suddenly hear a strange sound- a combination of "crumbly" and "whooshy"- a sound definitely not associated with purring, healthy, safe vehicles.
I push 2 different buttons on my dashboard- but neither the A.C. nor the rearwindow defrost buttons, however wonderful they may be, are helping me in the current situation. Ah. There it is. The emergency blinkers. With my kung-fu-like reflexes, I start inching my way to the right lane, while simultaneously slowing the car down but not too quickly. Of course, I'm praying out loud, informing the kids that we're in a bit of a pinch, and scanning my brain for any sort of information I may have picked up from well-meaning advisors. Seeing that I am incapable of registering any such valuable advice, particularly that which is dire to my livelihood, I come up with nothing.
All I can think of is... who is going to help me get the heck out of this situation? Aiyana is pretty intuitive, tough in the face of adversity, and a total whiz when it comes to her studies, but... she's only six. I'm sure Micah didn't bring his AAA card and chances are Elijah was probably picking his nose in the backseat, unaware of the challenges we were currently faced with. Yep. I was going to have to figure this out for myself.
The car and I battle a bit as it sways and wobbles back and forth, but it's not anything drastic or perilous, more of a thumb wrestle, of which I remain in control and victorious at all times. Finally we make our way to the side of the freeway and stop for a minute to think a little clearer of what needs to happen next. I reach for my purse only to be reminded of my scattered irresponsible self, that same self who had left my cell phone sitting on top of my T.V. at home. In otherwords, I had no cell phone. No worries. I remember moms teaching me that there were these call boxes every few miles or so along the freeway... we would just have to find one.
Driving along the side of the road, with that same ridiculous sound playing over and over, I see the comforting yellow box in the distance... that call box... for people who are in trouble on the freeway... people like me and my kids. But, as we finally come upon it, I see a sign- a terrible, good for nothing sign- printed on someone's P.C. on cheap white, computer paper, and mounted upon that yellow call box with clear packing tape, which reads, "For roadside assistance, dial 335, on your cellphone." I'm sorry, is the government dishing out free cellphones now? I suddenly feel the urge to defend the poor and underpriveledged non-cell-phone-owning populaton of Los Angeles, but really it's a selfish ambition, I'm really wanting to defend slightly irresponsible moms such as myself.
Did I mention, I don't have my cellphone with me?

To be continued...