So, how dumb are we, exactly?

Todd and I have been together for almost 10 years now, and we have had some famously good times. I can think of hiking trips, beach vacations, dates at Sonic drinking strawberry-lemonade slushes where I would really need a bathroom but was enjoying our time too much to ask him to take me home so I could pee...the list continues longer than anyone would want to read. But this weekend, I discovered a new level in our relationship.

Sometimes, we can be really dumb.

Anyone who knows Todd would never even joke about attaching that word with his name; why on earth would you? He’s a genius! I’m also considered rather intelligent by association. I can’t tell you the number of times someone has said something to be about how I’m “smart,” and I’ve never known where they got it. Have they seen my ACT scores? 

Regardless of the standards by which people may have formerly rated our intelligence, I’m here to dispel all flattery and poorly-informed opinions of us: we’re about as bright as Edison’s first few thousand attempts at the light bulb. At the risk of ruining our reputations forever, I’ll recount for you the story of how we spent our Sunday...

...but we better start on Saturday. When Todd tried to start the car that afternoon so we could go grocery shopping, nothing but a weird clicking happened. He threw the hood up and fiddled around at a 90 degree angle for a while—nothing. Nothing he could think to try worked, and we found ourselves stranded. We took the opportunity to visit the pizza place next door to our complex and are officially grateful for random, sketch-looking establishments.

It was too late in the day to try to do anything about the car problem; South Africa shuts down “early” on a good day, and weekends are even worse. No 24-hour Wal-Marts here. We decided to try to start the car again in the morning, see if anything changed, and if not, we’d take the battery to a place that could test it and determine whether a new battery could fix the problem, or if we had bigger, more difficult, $$$-kind of problem on our hands. 

Sunday morning came and—nothing. The car still click-click-clicked, but couldn’t bring itself to start. This was, of course, no surprise, and so Todd set about removing the battery.

This is where we come to a rather comical side story, but I’m going to fast forward. Suffice it to say that removing the battery was a job easier said than done, and I think it required two Googlings, a pair of garden pliers, and a hammer/screwdriver combination. I mostly stayed out of the way, but I was around enough to notice that Todd used both the top and bottom views of the engine to try to figure out what was up. 

At last, the battery was yanked from the engine like a really bad tooth with a great “ARHUGHARHAAHAA!!!!!” from Todd, and it looked like we were on our way to happier times. I mean, it was out. That was half of the job, right? Now it was off to an auto shop.

You might find yourself asking: “how did they plan to get the battery to a shop?” An excellent question. We planned to walk, and that’s exactly what we did, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I have never dealt with car batteries before yesterday, and was surprised to find just how heavy they are. I don’t think 50lbs would be an exaggeration. Maybe even heavier. Todd wrapped the battery up in a couple plastic bags, placed it in a backpack, and did exactly what you would do with a backpack. He put it on his back.

I took this opportunity to remind him that we did know people who would help us, but the  fact that it was about 10:00 on a Sunday morning really limited our options of who was available. Todd thought that anyone who would be able to help us would only be able to do it on Monday, and we both agreed that this was a problem we’d rather have fixed sooner than later; one is really very helpless without a car. So, with that, we marched through our complex gate and began our journey, Todd with a massive car battery on his back and me with...well, nothing.

Todd had looked up a a battery shop in the area that he said we would try first. It was closer than our other option, an auto shop called, and I kid you not, “Naskar,” which we knew did battery testing. 

We walked for half an our or so, until we reached the first option, which wasn’t open. We checked with a gas station nearby to see if they did testing, but—nothing. They guy at the counter didn’t even understand the question at first. With that, we continued on to Naskar.

It was at least another half hour before we reached Naskar. The joy we both felt (Todd more than I) upon seeing the shop was quickly checked by the empty parking lot. We walked to the store front and read the hours...none of which belonged to Sunday. 

“It was really dumb of us not to call,” I said. 

“Yeah, I thought about that a while ago,” Todd answered. “I didn’t think to call before we left.”

Todd set his backpack on the ground and sat slumped down on the sidewalk. 

“At least we got some good exercise!” I offered. I’m all about working exercise into my day.

We hadn’t been sitting there long when I heard a honk behind me on the street. I didn’t turn around at first, as taxis are always honking here. but Todd half waved and said, “There’s Josh and Nick.”

At this I did turn, just in time to see Nick in the driver’s seat.

“And you let them drive away?” I asked, kind of completely shocked. The thing neither of us had said yet was that now we had to walk all the way home, with the worthless battery. I didn’t mind the walk, but I couldn’t imagine why Todd wouldn’t try to get a ride. His back must have been about to snap under the awkward burden. But he's a real man, what can I say? Oh, and we're dumb.

I’ll make a really long story short by saying that it took us about an hour to walk back to the house. I got in some decent exercise and Todd got the workout of champions, so I can’t really say we walked all over Africa for nothing. 

Poor little Todd...he did a really great job, but I think the weight got to his tiny frame. He started saying some strange things, this being my favorite:

“If I did this every day for a year, I’d be a yak.”

“A yak?” I asked. 

“Yeah, you know, I’d be as strong as a yak.”

“I think the phrase is: as strong as an ox.”

“Well, I’d be as strong as something really strong.” (poor guy, usually so articulate...the strain must be getting to him)

He also made various fictional references, just to keep the mood light (since nothing else was), like:

“I feel like Frodo and the ring. It keeps getting heavier and heavier,” and “I feel like Pilgrim’s Progress.” (I don't even know if he's read that...)

I felt so bad for not being able to help him, but I don’t think I could have lifted the backpack on, much less carried it for miles and miles. We did eventually make it home, and as soon as Todd took the backpack off he started flapping around, pretending he could fly. It was hilarious. Pathetic, but hilarious :) 

Needless to say, we’ve learned a very valuable lesson: just call first. And the next time you’re faced with a difficult circumstance, whatever you do, don’t ask yourself: What would Todd and Meredith do? The verdict is in. We’re big-time dummies :)