Our story begins a few months back when our heroine was spending an afternoon conversing with friends. It was an innocent conversation. There was no foreshadowing that day that could have possibly prepared her for her CAR being STOLEN! dun….dun……dun……!
And yet, there it wasn’t, right not where she had parked it only scant minutes before.
At first she was surprised. Then flabbergasted. Then unsure as she thought she may have parked it somewhere else and just forgot. It happens.
After walking up and down the street a few times and looking like a deranged, forgetful idiot (which some say she looks like more often than just then, but anyway) she was forced to call the police to come to her aid.
The dashing, young law enforcement officer, who, just between you and me couldn’t have been more than 21, came over in a matter of minutes, filed a report and even took her to her residence.
We’ll skip ahead along our time line to a week later when, at long last, her car was found. Sans her incredibly important manuscript pages that represented about two months of work. But included in the ‘booty’ left in the car, was an odd assortment of old albums, a fake, leather, silver jacket circa 1983 and a halogen bulb, along with a few pieces of chipped Wal-Mart pottery. Not a fair trade in my book, but finders keepers. If they think they’re getting their slick, moonwalk jacket back, they have another think coming.
Insurance covered the bulk of repairs from when the thieves had taken the poor Ford Escort off-roading, and our heroine was happy to have her little car back. Little did she know that the CAR was now CURSED!
If there is a sliver of glass in the road or a tiny tack with super-puncturing abilities, her tires will find it.
If there is a curb that magically wants to grow six extra inches and then retreat back into it’s normal line before anyone sees, her car will find it.
If there is a wire that wants to go loose and mess with her head, flashing little, tiny lights on and off when they aren’t related to anything at all, they will be found under her hood.
If there is an alternator that wants to give out after only 50,000 miles instead of waiting for the usual 75 or so, it can and will be found in her car.
If there is a tree branch that is waiting to fall, it will continue waiting until her car, about 100 yards away from said branch, will call out to it and say ‘fall now, oh branch. Her car is almost there!’
If there is a slasher walking by, looking for ripe treads to flick his blade against, her tires always look the plumpest.
If there is an ornery home owner that refuses to have anyone encroach even 3 inches into the rosy hued stripe along the curb of his driveway, you can bet her car will be the one that gets towed. After which, our heroine has major flash backs to the whole STOLEN CAR (dun*dun*dun) episode and it’s so not pretty to witness.
And when she gets gas, she swears that right before the nozzle ‘accidentally’ falls off the hose line and sprays fuel all over her suit on the way to her new job, she can hear the car whispering something sneaky to the pump machine.
And if there is a bird somewhere flying over the greater part of the northern hemisphere, it will zero into the ‘secret-bird’s-eyes-only-target-zone’ on the top of her car and leave a semi-white, half-dollar sized, chunky smear where her arms can’t quite reach to clean it off.
It’s evil. Pure and simple.
And now, about $547.00 and 3 months later, she is thinking that since meeting the street on it’s terms and trying to be polite wasn’t the answer (Street, meet Leah. Leah, meet the street)and sweet-talking the car wasn’t the answer (Ok, gray goddess….just don’t attract attention. No birds today. You’re doing great. Good passing! Nice blinking skills!)so the answer must be to just ignore the whole thing until it goes away.
That’s just what the EVIL AUTO wanted her to think! And she did fall into that trap. Sadly, dear reader, her numbed mind was only disturbed out of that alternate-reality-thinking-plane when the front bumper of her car insidiously slapped the car in front of it on the rear end. Now, I don’t know how it is where you live, but where I come from, that’s just uncalled for. Her car didn’t even use the politically correct language. i.e. could I please touch your hind end with my front bumper for the count of about one one-thousand? So, needless to say, the cops were called in for illegal touching, even though there wasn’t any damage done, per se. Now her insurance people are wondering if there is any reason they shouldn’t cut her loose and she finds no real reason she could give them to keep her on as long as she has THAT particular auto in her employ.
I’ve counseled with her and told her in no uncertain terms that the time to act is NOW. She must immediately trade that car in for a new one. I’ve done it in secret, of course. After all, I don’t want her car telling my car anything……
quick recap for the kids:
don’t ever own your own car unless you want to go broke and insane, let your parents fund it for you instead.