Proof the Gods are indeed crazy...

…and I was their latest victim. I usually ride in the broken down Isuzu with Pat, the long term JHCer who is charge of the facilities at the clinic. I like riding over together, because Pat insists on speaking only Spanish with me, the slow gringo Spanish that lacks a harsh accent or strange Nica words. Even though I enjoy playing the ‘don’t hit the dog watch out for the potholes’ game every time I go to the clinic, I also like not paying attention to the road and watching the scenery pass by. Whenever we drive together it is also easier because Pat has keys to the large gates at the entrance of the clinic. In an effort to keep the clinic secure, only a select few have keys to these gates, and I am not one of the few. Whenever I drive alone, I always have to either honk the horn long enough for Dona Conchita to hear me, or turn off the truck, go inside and get Dona Conchita myself. Not a big deal, but not having to ask Dona Conchita to open and close the gates every time I need to come and go is always nice. ANYWAY, the gods are crazy and this is why:
Yesterday afternoon I was at the clinic with Pat, however, she finished her duties far before I was ready to leave, so I drove her back to the Foundation and returned to the clinic solo. Conchita was there to open the gates. 3 hours later it was my turn to leave. I go searching for Conchita, but she is nowhere to be found. Her son Carlos is the night watchman and he was getting ready to come on shift. So I waited for a bit and when I was told the gates were open, I was free to go. I got the truck started (song, dance, prayer) and started to drive toward the gates. They were unlocked, but not opened. No big deal I think, I will see if Carlos is coming to open for me but I can clearly open these gates by myself now that they are unlocked. I wait a second, and not wanting to be a bother I decide this is a job I can finish myself. I put the truck in neutral, pulled the emergency break, and jumped out of the car. I start to run towards the gate (only about 5 feet in front of the truck) when I notice the truck is slowly running forward as well. I run back to the door and it is jammed! It won’t open, it is not locked, but it won’t open. Maybe the gate will stop the slowly moving truck. No such luck. The truck bangs through the gates, old and rusty enough to send a large noise throughout the barrio. I am running beside this old piece of truck still trying to open the door. The gates open to a small alley that runs the length of the clinic. Directly across from the gates, only about 8 feet from my rolling truck (now picking up speed due to the eroded surface of concrete separating the gates from the dirt road) are houses guarded by scrap metal fences. In my mind I can only see my truck, the piece of crap it is, crashing through gates and houses leaving me to explain how and why in broken Spanish. Not wanting this AT ALL, I jump in front of the truck and push with all I have to cancel out the trucks inertia.
By this time I have attracted the attention of everyone on the street. Everyone has gathered outside of their casitas, dropping wet clothes into full pilas, picking children up in the arms, and staring at me. All the patients sitting in the clinic, bored and suffering, jump to their feet and peek outside the door, keeping one ear inside in case their name is called. Which is useless as the pharmacists, lab techs, and doctors have joined the crowd of people answering my calls of GAHHH with their blank stares. What the hell is the chela doing? The man who lives in the house my truck is about to destroy attempts to open the passenger door and get the truck to brake. No luck. Somehow - the gods must have gotten bored - the truck stops millimeters from the scrap metal fence with me pushing, sliding, and cursing.
Whew.
Carlos runs up. Que pasó chela?
I try to explain to Carlos how I didn’t want to bother him to open the gates he had already unlocked, so I was just going to do it myself. How was I supposed to know that at that moment the emergency brake would go out and the door would jam shut? How would I know the gates would throw themselves open and the truck would pick up speed going over that bump that often causes me such trouble to get out when I AM driving? My explanation was lost in translation and everyone just laughed. Carlos pulls at the door and gets nothing. A local gang member walks over and tries with no luck. I crawl in the truck through the other door and try again. Nope. Everyone is jiggling the door with hopes of being the lucky winner to get the door open. We stop for a second while I tell a blank faced Carlos how the door broke and I jumped in front of the truck, and the truck door casually creeks open. As if it was never shut in the first place.
The gates were opened the rest of the way by a woman waiting for asthma medicine, I backed the truck up so I could make the turn into the alley (rather than into the scrap metal fence) and I left. I gave a victory wave to the kids pointing and laughing and I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
This morning I had to return to the clinic by myself again. Maybe I was paranoid, but I think the people gathered in the streets once more when they heard the Isuzu coming, with tickets to the second showing of “Chela Can’t Drive.” Everything went fine, except for the part where I needed to push the truck to get it to start…