Or: My Car Has Been in the Shop for a Week and I Am Not Coping Well
A week ago, my car stopped working*, rather abruptly and without much warning.*** It happily turned on, and happily changed gears, and happily refused to go any faster than two miles an hour.
* Was attacked by invisible space pirates and stolen from me by a tow truck.**
** This is what I tell people when they ask me what happened to my car. People should probably stop asking me what happened to my car.
*** Except for that terrible sound that it kept making that I was ignoring.
So I called the automobile club, which is the club they let you pay to be in when you happen to have purchased a car. The automobile club, which calls itself AAA****, reluctantly agreed to tow my car exactly four miles before they would charge me a very silly amount of money per mile. I let them tow my car precisely three-point-seven-five miles and then called my car insurance people and had it towed (for free) seven more miles to the repair shop.
**** If adult entertainment is abbreviated as “XXX”, does “AAA” mean that I’m engaging in some form of wholesome adult automobile-related activities? This is today’s awkward thought.
The first day was pretty rough.
But then things started looking up.
Then overwhelming feelings of guilt…overwhelmed me.*****
***** They overwhelmed my vocabulary.
But then the joys of an unfamiliar fancy car won me over.
But even fancy technology and a super-charged air conditioner****** couldn’t fill the dark void in my heart left by the absence of my beloved car.
****** It’s the South. It’s already hot. Also I really love air conditioning. Captain Planet is not proud of me.
Sorrow leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to writing angry letters to your car repair shop, and never delivering them.
And finally, imaginary-letter-writing leads to a call from the car repair shop telling you that your car is probably ready to be picked up.*******
******* Yes. Obviously the first thing leads to the second thing. Don’t your imaginarily-written-letters make things happen?
My heart filled with joy. It grew to three times its regular size********
******** Like the Grinch, but lots less green and fuzzy, and probably more medically concerning.
But then I got to the repair shop, and they tried to keep my car again.
Really, this is the story of why I’m never taking my car to a mechanic ever again.