“Oh great. Now I can’t FUCKING SEE.”
I said these words to my stupid car en route to work today. At 5:00 am, the sun hasn’t really even started to think about getting up, so it’s as dark as, well, night. Some car in front of me threw dirt all over my windshield, and I couldn’t see. The squirty thing on the window is broken, but I slammed the windshield wipers on anyway. My shredded, weak-motored wipers shoved the dirt around a bit, but did nothing to make my path visible. I pounded my dashboard in frustration, and it fell off onto my lap. Fucking car.
When I tried to get out of it, the gasket that seals the door when it’s shut fell down. It had been dangling for a while, but I’ve managed to shove it back up now and again… either that or I drive leaning right when it rains. Anyway, it falls right as I’m climbing out of the door, and trips me. We’re now at 5:30 in the morning, and I’m sprawled in the Starbucks parking lot, right in some wet slushy badness left over from last week’s snow.
On top of all else, the battery is dying, the transmission is blowing and power steering has been replaced by a stiff steering wheel that requires a Herculean effort to turn. I am not Hercules.
Mr. Wonderful got up with me every morning last week to jump it, because it’s been pretty much a given that it won’t start. It does not like cold, and the battery is leaking battery acid.
I dunno why; it’s only got 271,000 miles on it.