EMILY PRATT SLATIN

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She/Her/Hers Lesbian

Retired Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer, living in Vermont.

Makayla Wanted Taco Bell

November 13, 2026—Stamford, New York (Mom's House)

Yesterday, Makayla and I spent the day together doing what was supposed to be a relatively ordinary girls’ day out. We went to Crossgates Mall, stopped at Makayla’s bank, visited Saratoga, and then continued north to Lake George. Later, we met Makayla’s friend Anyca for dinner at Lorenzo’s in Amsterdam.

After dinner, we stopped at Target, where Makayla decided to do some drifting around the parking lot beneath the streetlights in the rain.

I’ve reached a point in my life where days like these mean considerably more to me than they once did. Now I can spend an entire day with someone I love just because I want to. I think that’s fucking fantastic.

Makayla wanted Taco Bell. We decided to stop in Cobleskill on our way back to Mom’s house in Stamford. Somewhere along Interstate 88, we encountered an unexpected snowstorm that seemed to have developed specifically for the purpose of making our evening considerably more difficult.

The snow was coming down heavily by the time we exited the interstate and continued along NY-7 toward Cobleskill. We eventually reached the Speedway gas station, where the road was blocked by a volunteer firefighter.

Apparently, there was a problem farther ahead involving a truck, and traffic wasn’t being permitted through.

“For fuck’s sake,” I said to Makayla. “If a truck overturns, wouldn’t it have made more sense to divert traffic at the interstate instead of routing traffic between gas pumps?”

We turned around.

By then, the snow was becoming increasingly heavy. The storm seemed to be concentrated almost exclusively along the route we needed to take back to Mom’s house. It felt like a personal invitation from the universe to go fuck ourselves.

We left Cobleskill at exactly 9:39 PM.

As we continued toward Stamford, the snow became progressively deeper. Makayla was driving an older Honda Civic with custom rims and a manual transmission. Eventually, the accumulation became so significant that the underside of her car was scraping off the top inch of snow from the road.

We made the left turn onto NY-10 northbound. It was at this point that Makayla informed me that her car was equipped with old summer tires. I looked at her. Of all the things I could have learned about the car while driving through an unexpected November snowstorm, this was probably among the least reassuring.

Makayla explained that the manual transmission, combined with the tires and deteriorating road conditions, was going to make getting back to Stamford particularly challenging. I suggested that we return to Cobleskill and spend the night in a hotel. Alternatively, we could find somewhere safe to stop and wait for a snowplow to come through.

Both seemed like perfectly reasonable suggestions. Unfortunately, we’d already spent the entire day traveling, shopping, visiting friends, and enjoying ourselves. We were exhausted, wanted to get home, and decided that we were going to make an attempt to continue.

At 10:18 PM, we became stuck on NY-10 between Ploss Road and Deer Trail Lane in Richmondville. The Civic had lost traction on a patch of ice in the southbound lane. I suggested that Makayla try inching the car toward the northbound side of the road, where we might be able to wait for assistance.

She turned the steering wheel slightly. The car immediately began sliding. Within moments, we were sitting directly across the yellow centerline, perpendicular to the highway, blocking both the northbound and southbound lanes.

Perfect. I called 911 and gave our precise location first, followed by a description of the situation, our original direction of travel, and the fact that the vehicle was obstructing both lanes. I requested law enforcement and a tow truck, and made it clear that there were no injuries.

As it happened, the dispatcher answering the telephone was someone I’d known during my years working in Schoharie County. I tried to play it cool. She recognized my voice anyway.

“Emily?”

“Yeah. This is Emily Slatin.”

Of all the people who could have answered that call, naturally, it had to be someone who knew me.

She asked for the vehicle’s color, make, and model.

“Let me hand you over to the registered owner. One sec.”

I handed the telephone to Makayla.

Makayla and I began calling around to arrange for a tow. One company quoted us $1,100 and informed us that credit cards were accepted. The man then demanded payment in advance before he would even leave his shop. And he wasn’t even sure he was coming at all.

I questioned why we couldn’t pay him when he arrived. He responded by telling me that the price had just gone up. To make matters worse, he repeatedly referred to me as sir, despite my correcting him several times.

Eventually, I’d had enough.

“FUCK YOU! Also, I’m a girl, fucking moron. You called me sir despite me telling you several times.”

I hung up.

Meanwhile, Makayla had posted a video of our predicament on Snapchat. One of her friends saw the video and decided to come help us. She then started eating her Taco Bell meal while drivers in cars stated their dismay.

Before he arrived, however, a young man driving a red pickup truck happened upon us while bringing his girlfriend home. He stopped, assessed the situation, and offered to help. He attached a length of webbing between the trailer hitch of his pickup and the undercarriage of Makayla’s Civic. He then began pulling us along the snow-covered road.

We continued for several miles before he stopped, disconnected the webbing, and told us that he would be right back. Shortly afterward, Makayla’s friend arrived in a white pickup truck. He noticed the webbing and asked where we’d gotten it. Makayla and I explained that some guy in a red truck had helped us.

Her friend backed up his truck to assist. Then the man in the red truck returned. As it turned out, the two men were close friends. I found the coincidence absolutely ridiculous. The journey continued, although not particularly gracefully. At one point, Makayla’s Civic went into a ditch and then came back out again.

We arrived at Mom’s house exhausted and cold at 1:00 AM.