Super Friends have Super Adventure in big City
By Conor O'Rourke
A&F Writer

Car batteries are unpredictable. And as four friends found out this past weekend while attempting to charge a car battery, so are friendships.

The problem faced by Jasper Turner (PO ’03) when he awoke Saturday morning was annoying, but not daunting. Somewhere in the heart of Los Angeles I had left his 1994 Toyota Camry the night before when it failed to acknowledge my key in the ignition, my pounding on the steering wheel, or my tears upon its dash. Unaccustomed to the ongoing car troubles of foreign models, I simply walked away and found my way back to the safety of Pomona via public transportation.

Fine then. Jasper and I would merely recruit a friend to drive us to LA and jump start the car. Convincing North Campus Representative Cory Forsyth that his term would run out at the semester and if he wanted any chance at re-election that he needed to keep his constituents happy, was the easy part. Departure, however, was severely delayed by Forsyth searching the Internet and printing out long lists of Scrabble acceptable words so that we could study them on the drive home. “Man, I’d rather just talk with you guys,” said a friendly Jasper. “Okay then, I’ll just read then,” responded an oblivious Forsyth as he collected the Playboy and Maxim from the coffee table.

Nonetheless, a three person trip was not fair to the third wheel without a fourth for back seat solidarity. Quinn Hawkins was the man with nothing else to do, yet still the most demands for his presence on our mini-journey. “I’ll only go if we can stop at the Museum of Neon Art.”

Fair enough Hawkins, you must have some sort of vested interest in such an obscure art form. After multiple trips to bathroom to make sure “it was all out”, the four of us were ready to fight the unending rain and drive forty miles down Interstate 10 to rescue a forlorn Camry.

“We missed the stop for the museum,” said Hawkins after we’d traveled 38 miles west on I-10. “Maybe we should get the car first, Quinn,” a preoccupied Turner answered.

”But the museum was the only reason I came,” quipped Hawkins. I followed Jasper’s lead in berating Hawkins about the importance of spending time together as friends, and how that should be enough. Ten minutes later the four of us stood reading a sign on how the color of neon light depends on the how the particular noble gas reacts with the introduction of electricity.

By the time the four of us had examined the entire two-room museum, the daylight was rapidly fading and hungers growing. We made it to the Camry around 5pm and quickly began to take the steps necessary to jump-start an engine. Nothing. “I guess we could call AAA,” I offered helplessly. As Jasper searched for his member number, an ambitious Forsyth decided to give the battery a second try. Power!

So the celebrating commenced. Cory and I exchanged hugs and high fives, while Quinn enjoyed playing with the functioning power windows and Jasper searched a map to find out how to get to Redondo Beach and Aidan’s Fish Eye Slop House, the premiere restaurant in these fried delicacies.

Like the Dallas Cowboys, our celebration was excessive and we paid the price. Suddenly, no more power, and all the power windows rolled down. It started to rain again.

We began to walk for a gas station. None of us knew why we weren’t driving but it must have been understood that cars were just not safe for us at this point. “I’m really hungry guys,” said Hawkins’ stomach, speaking through the mouth. “Ooh, this place looks good, it’s cheap too.” Hawkins and Forsyth stood examining a posted menu outside a Thai restaurant.

Turner’s voice of responsibility was no match for the power of three malnourished stomachs (sorry Jasper), and we proceeded into the restaurant and took our places around an empty table.

This wasn’t right and I knew it. As soon as the sweet Thai waitress handed us the menus, Jasper and I took a stand and left the restaurant with a confused Hawkins and Forsyth following begrudgingly.

Eventually, despite all our walking, we once again found ourselves back at the cars with no battery, no food, and only directions to an AutoZone two miles away. Buying a battery was not enough, and Turner’s bill ran up as wrenches, screwdrivers, lubricant, and a flashlight were added. I opted for the 59 cent lighter to guide our way over the $3.99 flashlight, but apparently I do not know enough about combustion.

In the end the battery was installed after an hour of figuring out which way was negative, knocking wrenches into the engine, and arguing over whether the better man is the one who takes charge, albeit with a stubborn heart, or the quiet helper who leads by neutral example.

The answer to this question fell short as the battery failed to start once again.

However, it was the underdog Hawkins who became the true hero in the end by being innocent enough to think that it would be safe to yank and jiggle on the wired battery, in a last ditch effort to try and get home before midnight. Power!

The jiggling worked, and despite all that had happened in the past seven hours, we still went out to Thai food, together, our presence and good noodles being enough to put the trials and tribulations of foreign made cars, and Pomona-made friendships under our belts as “growing experiences”.