Thursday, February 22, 2007

Is this a joke?

This week has sucked, royally. I'm not usually a complainer but you've got to be kidding me. Seriously, is this a joke? I mean it was bad enough the landlord fondled my underwear, my bedroom was soggy, work is awful right now, and I almost hit an oak tree. My luck is topped off with my favorite wine glass being broken (this makes me very sad), our washing machine is now in a sad state of disrepair, which just heightens my fashion problems to a point where I want to move to a nudist colony, and then there is the issue with the car I didn't even want to buy (sorry Meg). It has been nothing but a headache.

After work yesterday, I eagerly headed over to the parking garage to get my car and to go to karate. I had not been in three days and was very excited to get there. I hopped into my car, turned the key, and....nothing. Nothing at all. I checked to see if I had left the lights on; I had not. I checked to see if all the fuel leaked out; it had not. The lights and horn worked, which is an indication it's not the battery. My heart sank. I returned to my office to call the tow truck. Mr. Towman was very friendly and promised he'd meet me at the garage in a half hour, which gave me enough time to run to the library to get a book. I already had the call number and the affirmation the book was not checked out from the library's online system. I waltzed in, barely avoided the lethal book cart (tons of books for sale for $2, cheap yes, however, if you purchase 20 at a time, this is not cheap), and headed in the direction where the book was located: 641.815. Of course, it was not there. It actually wasn't anywhere in that section. I checked every freaking shelf for the book. I had the lady at the counter check every possible corner in which it could be. After 15 minutes, the librarian apologized and told me the book was somewhere, they just didn't know where. Are you serious? Obviously, it's not on the shelf where it is supposed to be. God forbid. I left the library cloaked in disappointment.

When I arrived at the parking garage, Mr. Towman was there waiting. He bravely drove his truck into the garage where it clinked on the ceiling every time we turned a corner for six stories. It was the scariest four minutes I've encountered since the snowstorm. Shockingly, we reached my car unscathed. He took out his little battery starter and jumped the car. It started immediately. He only charged me $55 and followed me out to make sure the car was working. He told me to drive around for 45 minutes to make sure the battery was recharged. As I drove out of the garage, my gas light turned on, of course. I was skeptical of the battery being the problem, as it was only seven months old. Fortunately, Meg kept all the receipts for the repairs in the glove box. I leafed through them to discover the battery receipt was in there and that she bought it at Sears with a 36 month warranty. I also discovered the starter was new. I secretly knew the problem was the alternator however prayed desperately for it to be the battery. I drove over to Sears to make use of the warranty. A very nice man, Ken, promised they could get my car into the shop in the next half hour, which meant I could wonder around the mall until they were done. While most people would find being stranded at the mall much akin to a fat kid being stranded in a bakery, I find it to be more like a sane person being accidentally left in an asylum. I despise malls. My roommate found this to be hysterical and pointed out it was an opportunity for me to finally buy some clothing. After unsuccessfully perusing three apparel stores, I found some solace in William & Sonoma where I read through a couple of cookbooks until Ken telephoned me with the bad news. I needed a new alternator, which they could repair this evening for the bargain price of $300.00. I wanted to cry. I headed back to Sears to sign the paperwork for them to fix it. Ken kindly thanked me for my patience and took $20 off my bill for something of which I'm not quite sure. He said it would be half and hour and he'd call when they were done. I left the store and headed to Best Buy where I sat in a massage chair in front of a 60 inch tv for thirty-five minutes until Ken called back to let me know my car was ready. I resentfully picked up Bonnie and headed home.

Total cost of car repairs to date: $1,002.00 (And I've only had it since October).

Morals of the story: 1) Never buy a car from a friend despite how much you love her. 2) Purchase all the good luck charms you've had your eye on for the last two weeks. 3) Find a Best Buy with a massage chair and 60 inch tv in which you can lounge to help aid in your deep depression. 4) GO BUY THE FREAKING SUBURBAN ALREADY!

3 comments:

chris said...

Cars are expensive! (and suburbans break too, btw). Too bad that you haven't befriended anyone with access to a big red tow truck up in New England. They come in useful sometimes.

Sorry to hear your week has been crappy though... Hope you have a good weekend lined up.

cupcake said...

I think I'd rather be like Angela Lansbury and ride a bike everywhere. Maybe I'll get one of those little Honda scooters in an orange Hawaiian pattern...

Chris said...

And you could solve murders and stuff! How fun would that be?